Teamwork
by Daenar
Summary: A Libyan weapons dealer forces Mac and Harm into an undercover op as participants of the Paris-Dakar rally. Stand-alone story
1. Chapter One

'TEAMWORK'  
  
Author: Daenar Rating: PG-13 Category: Romance (H/M), Action, Adventure Disclaimer: JAG is property of Belisarius Productions, CBS and Paramount Pictures. No copyright infringement intended.  
  
Summary: A Libyan weapons dealer forces Mac, Harm and the better part of the JAG staff into a large-scale undercover mission in the Paris-Dakar Rally... Stand-alone story.  
  
Author's note: I know this may sound crazy but I love undercover scenarios and this one holds possibilities to go into humor as well as action. Ever since the German rally driver Jutta Kleinschmidt in 2001 wrote sports history as the first female driver to win the Paris-Dakar, I have been wondering how a certain Marine colonel would do in the competition. And I always wanted to see how a multi-personnel undercover op would work out. At least I hope it will...  
  
The rally is called Paris-Dakar because normally, the start is in Paris or at least in France and the final stage ends in Dakar which is the capital of Senegal in Western Africa. The 2000 Paris-Dakar Rally, though, didn't leave African soil at all as the association wanted to have a special rally for Y2K. The route, nearly 10.000 km (6250 miles) long, went in 17 stages through six countries (Senegal, Mali, Burkina Faso, Niger, Libya and Egypt) from Dakar to Cairo (Egyptian capital, Northeast Africa). So, the (fictional) year that my story takes place in has the same route reversed: Cairo-Dakar. For details about the route, check out the official rally site .  
  
This story holds a slightly different sight of why Harm didn't yet get together with Mac. Not that this theory is new, in fact, I know of several writers that dealt with it. But I didn't yet. That's why I mention it.  
  
Many thanks to Heather for beta-reading and to Layla for highly appreciated contents advice! All remaining mistakes are mine.  
  
Part One:  
  
[Excerpts from Harm's diary]  
  
Nov, 29th  
  
Dear Dad,  
  
Here I am, at 0200, sitting at my dining table and trying to come up with a few lines that make sense. Well, I guess, given the chaos that's my mind right now, that's a useless endeavor, but I promised Harriet that I'd at least try. Turning my insides out to some anonymous blank pages doesn't feel very appealing, though. That's why I thought I'd write to the one person whom I could always tell everything. And that's you, Dad. I hope you don't mind.  
  
So, as I said, I promised Harriet that I'd write down a few thoughts to clear my head somehow. That's what she gave me this little journal for. To sort out why everything keeps going so terribly wrong. First Harriet tried to talk to me in person. She came into my office today after the admiral had briefed us about that new mission that this lunatic called Clayton Webb concocted. This time he really topped everything that ever came to that distorted mind of his - this is never gonna work out! But I guess I should tell you the story from the start. And that means I'll have to start my tale with what's left of my private life.  
  
I did mention to you last Christmas that there was a woman in my life, didn't I? Okay, not exactly in my life but in my heart and on my mind. She's been there for seven years now and still I can't bring myself to tell her how I feel. Can you imagine? I think I know that I mean very much to her, too. But there are deeper issues in the way, I'll get into that later. So I just let the occasions slip away and cling to the close friendship that connects us - the most wonderful thing in my life. Until two days ago, and that's when this whole mess really started.  
  
Her name is Sarah Mackenzie - Mac - and she's a lieutenant colonel in the Marine Corps, my partner at JAG, just in case you don't remember - Dad, I fell for a jarhead! Mac and I spent last Saturday with little AJ, you know, our godson, Harriet and Bud's kid. He's going to be five in spring and he's such a cutie. We took him to a children's exhibition in Georgetown, really great. They have little experiments and machines to try out for children to make them see how things work, physics and such. We had so much fun.  
  
There was one thing that especially impressed AJ. On a table that you could fold in half, there were little bricks waiting to be laid out horizontally in a certain manner, forming an arch that lay on its side. The single brick stones couldn't be connected to each other in any way but if you placed them in the right way and made sure that the arch began and ended exactly where the table folded, you could get the arch up to vertical, put the table half down again and the arch would stand. Static. Impressive. AJ had us do it over and over again.  
  
Dad, watching Mac with our godson always moves me very much. We have a deal, you know - please, don't laugh - that if, by the time AJ turns five, neither of us is in a relationship, we'll go halves on a kid. Really, we agreed on that. Won't be too long now... I get all dizzy whenever I remember that day. What the hell was I thinking? I should have asked her to marry me instead. Would have spared us a lot of heartache. But then - our jobs, although they're usually far away from the frontlines of armed conflict, have proven dangerous. I've come too close to losing her far too often. And vice versa, by the way.  
  
Getting over Diane was an ordeal that took years. Considering the way that I cared for Diane doesn't even come close to how I feel about Mac... Dad, I couldn't handle losing her. I would break. I feel I can't take the risk. And the coincidence that Mac is Diane's physical twin fortunately reminds me of what is at stake when I'm in danger of losing my head, although I don't see Diane in Mac. They are different - but the situation isn't. That's why I manage to retreat every time we threaten to get too close. I know I hurt Mac badly more than once and I feel ashamed of it. But it's exactly as she put it once: I just can't let go. I mustn't, at any cost. You don't recover twice from losing the love of your life.  
  
So I keep telling myself that allowing Mac to have a child with me is just a pact between best friends - teamwork, sort of. Just whom are you trying to kid, Rabb?  
  
Anyway, back to last Saturday. At the exhibition shop, Mac discovered that you could actually buy little sets of precisely shaped brick stones to try and repeat the experiment at home. She purchased one for AJ, one for herself and one for Chloe. And, of course, I never stopped teasing her about it. We bantered back and forth all the way home, even after we had dropped AJ off at the Roberts'. When we reached her building, she invited me to come up for a cup of coffee.  
  
It hasn't been that long since we've finally been back to our easy banter, Dad. Engagements, girlfriends, plane crashes, minefields... something always got in the way of taking up where we had left off when I returned to active flight duty. We both missed our friendship very much and we're both incredibly relieved to have it back to the way it was before everything. 'Had' it back, to be correct, until I messed up.  
  
As we were standing in Mac's kitchen while she was preparing the coffee, I casually asked Mac where she intended to try out the experiment as I didn't see any folding tables in her apartment. She looked at me with a challenging smile and said that she was thinking about using me as a folding table. She would lay out the arch on my chest and then have me sit up and lie down again. Surely I would support her scientific efforts? With that, she stepped close to me, looking up to meet my eyes.  
  
I felt the tension and although warning bells instantly began to toll at the back of my mind, I couldn't step away. She always does that to me, Dad. She's got a power over me that exceeds my understanding. So I just stayed put and remarked something sly I don't even remember. The memory of what followed seems to unfold in slow motion, every time I think of it.  
  
Sparks seem to fly, we're leaning in, our lips touch, tentatively at first. Passion takes over. I gather her to my arms and kiss her as if my life depended on it. She ardently returns my kiss. We're lost in each other, giving in to a passion that I haven't yet known.  
  
Dad, my feelings outright scared me but I couldn't break off.  
  
The telephone brought me back to my senses. We let the machine get the call, but the spell was broken and I was glad to be able to draw back. Mac met my glance - and knew. I will never forget the flow of emotions that I inflicted and saw mirrored in those beautiful dark eyes of hers: shock, disappointment, anger, pain... I knew that look. I caused it too often. But this time something new followed that knocked me off the track. I saw the pain prevail, but her anger, instead of rising, suddenly vanished, leaving behind only an incredibly sad, fatalist acceptance of what I had done. It seemed that Mac had inwardly drawn a line. She would never go there again.  
  
Wasn't that exactly what I wanted? To be safe from any danger of reliving the torment that Diane had caused me? Theoretically, yes. I tried to convince myself that it was better this way but at the same time something deep inside me broke at seeing her like this. I felt an incredible loss of something that I couldn't really place.  
  
"Mac..." I began, confused.  
  
She only smiled at me, sadly, beautifully. "It's okay, Harm. Really," she said in a low, soothing voice that was devoid of any reproach, utterly contrary to how she'd normally react. This scared me even more.  
  
She gently pulled me out of the kitchen. "I'm tired, Harm. Would you mind leaving me alone?" Her voice was still gentle and friendly, intimate, actually, as if I were her brother.  
  
"'Course not," I whispered, shaken. I took my jacket and opened the door. In the doorway I turned to find her watching me leave with that scary sad smile.  
  
"Mac, I'm sorry..." I tried once again, not really knowing what I wanted to tell her.  
  
"I told you, it's okay. I understand." Mac stepped up to me and placed her hand on my cheek. "Be safe, Harm," she said gently before closing the door.  
  
It felt like a definite farewell. I guess I mastered the art of burning bridges.  
  
I tried to call her on Sunday but she wouldn't pick up the phone. So I kept up my hopes for a word with her today at work. But Clayton Webb killed the opportunity. When I got in I was summoned at once into Chegwidden's office. To my surprise, besides Mac - who smiled at me melancholically, greeting me as a friend - there were quite a few other people present: Webb, Gunny, Sturgis, Bud, Harriet, even Tiner and a man I didn't know.  
  
Webb then explained to us what the CIA needed us for this time. I can only tell you, Dad: if we normally have apprehensions whenever Webb shows up, this time the whole lot of us, including the admiral, were staring open- mouthed at that lunatic spook once he had finished explaining!  
  
Dad, he wants to ship us all off to Africa for New Year's! Well, not all of us, but a whole lot of people, nevertheless. Here's the case:  
  
Seven grenades filled with Anthrax germs recently disappeared from the Turkish Air Force Base of Erhac. They had been stocked there for several years, having been discovered in Iraq by the time the UN inspection teams were still allowed to go looking around before the four-years break, that means sometime before 1998. The government kept the existence of the grenades classified because the germ cocktail in them seems to be of a peculiar nature and they wanted to do some research first. But then priorities changed and research plans were postponed indefinitely.  
  
Now, there's a Marine guard, a Corporal Brian Dunfoss, stationed at Erhac who's with the team that was guarding the grenades. Dunfoss' brother Will is a rally driver and, with his navigator John Marx, even finished the Paris-Dakar of '98 in fourth place. Will Dunfoss seems to be married to a Libyan and the CIA now suspects that someone from his wife's family - outwardly a western oriented, liberal one - has connections to Al Qaeda and blackmailed or otherwise convinced Dunfoss to get his brother to turn over the grenades to them.  
  
The Agency thinks that he'll deliver them when this year's Paris-Dakar crosses Libya. The rally organizers are planning on doing a reverse of the 2000 course that was Dakar-Cairo. So, starting from Cairo, Dunfoss and Marx would have several days of Libyan Sahara outback to quietly complete the transaction. Will has made arrangements with his brother to get his car flown to Erhac to have it checked by a local firm that works for the AF on the base. From there they'll ship it to Alexandria in Egypt. The agents guess that's when they'll figure out a way to hide the hazardous freight safely in the car until it can be unloaded.  
  
The grenades are deadly, but small, so at least, given their size, hiding them won't be too much of a problem. But Will and Marx are extremely lucky that Corporal Dunfoss happened to work a lot with artillery weapon systems on his last duty station - it'll be one hell of a job to secure the grenades in a way that there won't be a risk of casualties when the car gets the living daylights beat out of it by the bumps and jumps of the course. Just who's foolish enough to consent to doing a rally drive sitting on biological bombs? I guess only Al Qaeda is capable of 'talking' people into doing things of the kind.  
  
You might want to ask why the spooks didn't simply arrest everyone involved but you know how those people like to waste our taxes: they're counting on us to track Dunfoss and Marx down to where the exchange is supposed to take place in order to get to the Al Qaeda cell.  
  
You want to know why we of all people are supposed to pull this off? Honestly, I've been wondering about that one myself. Webb's only answer was: "Brian Dunfoss is a Marine." Yeah, well, semper fi.  
  
He's using us, Dad, once again. And the plan he came up with is just plain crazy. I just wish I could keep Mac out of the scheme somehow. Dad, we're supposed to participate in the rally! Yes, you heard me right. Webb and Gunny go in as one team, Mac and I as another. And Harriet and Tiner (those two! in an undercover op!) will cover the team/technicians/TV side. I could clearly see that Bud didn't like this at all. How come??  
  
Actually, Mac and I are only supposed to act as support for Gunny and Webb who'll be the main operatives. Gunny will be Felipe Moreno, driver, and Webb will be Carl Becker, his navigator. This way, he can play around with his little transmitters and sat-phones and stuff without having to hide too much. Mac and I are to draw attention away from them, and you know how? Mac is supposed to be driving! Get a smart and beautiful woman into a position such as this and - with a bit of PR - you can be sure you can operate quietly in the shadow that the medial attention focused on her will create. Of course she's not the only woman competing but ever since this German, Jutta Kleinschmidt, won the 2001 rally, the media is a lot more interested in female drivers.  
  
I'm going to sit by, navigate us through the desert and communicate with Webb. Great. I wonder where Webb picked up the names for us, too. Mac will be Deborah Kellerman, I'll go by the name of Douglas Vandenberg. Well, whatever. Deb and Doug, the Double D, will manage somehow. We always do. We're a team. What I'm really afraid of is the prospect of seventeen days when I'll see my Mac in constant danger and will be confined to the intimate atmosphere of a Ford Focus with her alone, nothing but hostile nature surrounding us. Okay, ever since Afghanistan I should be sort of accustomed to scenarios as this. But, you know, Dad, doing it in cammies with rank insignia, knowing constantly that you're on duty, makes it easier for me to keep my necessary distance. I don't know if I can manage once I see her in one of those hot, clingy drivers' suits... Webb says she must cut her hair rather short to change her looks a little, in case someone remembers her from Trial TV or the tribunal. I can't do very much about my own exterior. I'll just cut my hair to five millimeters I suppose. I'll look horrible but at least Mac will be very cute, I'm sure of it.  
  
Mac and Gunny are off to Nevada now with that strange guy who was in the admiral's office, one Andrew Bensen, former rally driver. They've got three weeks of drivers' training to get through, before we navigators fly down as well to do the last week together. Secrecy prevents us from flying to Cairo earlier than on Dec. 30th, so we'll have to cope with jetlag and malaria prophylaxis, not knowing the country. But Webb tells us Bensen will prepare us adequately to stay somewhere in the middle of the ranking. I do hope so. And I really hope that the Gunny will keep a good eye on Mac while they're down there because I could sense that Bensen was very fast developing a "thing" for Mac. My Mac. No, not my Mac. She can't be. But she mustn't be anyone else's, either. Am I being selfish? Yes, Rabb, you are.  
  
Harriet and Tiner are to go over with a ZBS team. Harriet will be secretary Carrie Smith who loves (and constantly collects!) gossip and Tiner will be Albert Brady, ZBS's Good Boy whose helpful and friendly ways will make him everybody's best friend in no time.  
  
While Harriet and Tiner were ecstatic about, for once, being in on the adventure, and while Bud, AJ and I were resentful towards Webb for bringing all this about, Mac and Gunny took their assignments with their usual jarhead coolness. Sturgis just looked a little tired, realizing that he and Bud will have to fill in for Mac and me without having anyone to organize the office or help with the research - Harriet, Gunny, Tiner: all gone. Good luck, buddy, you're gonna need it. As we do, too.  
  
So, Dad, can you at least understand why I'm upset and confused? During the rally, Mac and I will hardly have the time to talk. So we'll try to concentrate on the mission and ignore the tension. But how do you do that inside an SUV in the middle of nowhere?  
  
But at least, with us partaking in the rally, Mac has an excuse for the Secnav who keeps trying to talk her into taking a post in Brussels as a NATO military law expert in the association talks with Russia. She told me that she's getting increasingly desperate about how to make the mid-January deadline pass without having to decline the offer bluntly. Would have made a nice impression on our new boss. Now she's out of trouble.  
  
I managed quite well to avoid the 'heart talk', didn't I, Dad? But I guess, now that you know the facts, I'll have to get into that next time I write to you. I don't know, yet, when that might be. I'll very likely banish the thought of opening up from my mind as soon as I get into rally preparations. It's easier that way. Please, Dad, don't blame me. Force of habit.  
  
I love you, Dad. Thanks for listening. Harm  
  
Middle of nowhere, Nevada, Dec. 20th  
  
Dear Dad,  
  
I told you it would most likely take a while until I got back to you, didn't I? Well, here I am. And you know what? I'm really grateful that you're here (sort of) to listen. I just realized that I'm even closer to you this year than I normally am during Christmastime when I know that I'll meet you at the Wall on Christmas Eve. Strange, isn't it? I'm beginning to realize that I might owe Harriet more than I thought I would. Bud sure is a lucky man.  
  
Two days ago, Webb and I flew out here - I don't even know where 'here' is, somewhere in the middle of the desert of Nevada, it wouldn't really help if I gave you the coordinates - to start our "real-life" scenario training. During the last three weeks my caseload was incredible. I had to wrap up all my and Mac's cases as Sturgis and Bud were knee deep in a mishap investigation that they absolutely wanted to get rid of before we all left. Understandable, I'd say. Work was hell, especially without Mac's smile to cheer me up from time to time, but somehow I handled all our cases and lost only one out of eight. Tell me you're proud of me, Dad. I am.  
  
So, as I said, two days ago Clay and I joined Mac and Gunny and this Bensen guy out here. But don't think that we didn't prepare in Washington, too. In fact, we did, and very thoroughly. I'd never have thought that I'd ever say this but I do believe that Clay and I have become rather close friends during the last three weeks. He came over after work almost every evening. I taught him whatever I know about navigation, even astronomical route calculation in case we run out of electricity. We studied map after map of the rally route and the whole extended region that we'll be passing through. He filled me in on everything the Agency currently knows about the grenade theft and the people they suspect to be in some way connected to it.  
  
Apart from that, we just talked. I mean, really talked, for the first time. Dad, there's a human being inside Clayton Webb after all! You know, it really did me good to be sitting at the kitchen counter with him over a variety of china take-out boxes (That guy knows what's good, by the way, unlike a certain Marine...), discussing God, the world and our (near to non- existent) private lives. We have a lot more in common than I thought. He was very fair whenever I mentioned Mac (what I did rather often), he never got into this 'Why-don't-you-tell-her-how-you-feel' stuff everyone keeps constantly throwing at me, openly or not.  
  
But I could see that he's nevertheless wondering about the two of us. So, the evening before we left, I told him about Diane. I don't even remember clearly how it came up. Clay just listened quietly until I had ended. There was an expression of understanding in his glance and all he commented on my tale was: "It's always hard to live with the ghosts of your past. And it's even harder for those who're innocently involved."  
  
I thought, of course, that he was referring to Mac. I just nodded and took another sip of my beer. But suddenly Clay spoke up again, not looking at me. "I know very well what you mean, Harm. Even if you make your peace with the events of the past - it's the fear that something of the kind could happen again that keeps driving you crazy whenever you get close to a point where you could get back the good things that you lost."  
  
He didn't say anything else for a while although I sensed that he was wondering if he should tell me whatever was on his mind. So I took the initiative. "Who was she?" I simply asked.  
  
Clay gave me a small, wry smile. At first I thought he wouldn't answer but eventually he did. "Her name was Shirin. Last name's classified. She was one of our operatives in Iran because her father was Iranian. Actually, she and Mac are very much alike, at least physically. Her character was different though. She was an openly emotional person. This character trait often got her into dangerous situations. But she had an amazing instinct to do what was right whenever things got rough. That's why the Agency kept her. She could get close to people. And it was me, at the time, whom she'd come to report whatever she had found. That's how we met."  
  
I glanced over at him. He seemed completely lost in his thoughts. "What happened?" I asked him.  
  
Sighing, Clay drew himself up on his chair, massaging the back of his neck. "Sorry, I can't tell you. Let's just say that for once, her instincts couldn't save her and she was captured and severely wounded. I managed to get her out before they killed her but the next day she died in hospital."  
  
"I'm sorry, Clay."  
  
When he looked at me I was startled by the pained expression in his eyes. "Harm, it happened twelve years ago but it still hurts badly. I've only told this story to a very few people since then, because most people simply wouldn't understand how much the affair threw me off track. You do, though, don't you?"  
  
I nodded, painful memories invading my own mind. "I think I do. Did you tell her?" I couldn't refrain from asking.  
  
"Yeah, I did. Two days prior to the catastrophe. Worst mistake of my life."  
  
"Why?" I asked, at a loss.  
  
He gave me a lopsided grin. "Oh, it's quite simple. The time span from my confession up to when she disappeared were the most beautiful forty-eight hours of my entire life." Clay took another sip from his bottle, studying the postcards on my refrigerator door.  
  
"Oh..."  
  
"I wouldn't want to go through that ordeal again, ever." Clay's voice was low. After a few seconds he looked at me. "And that's why I understand you, Harm."  
  
I returned his faint smile, at the same time asking myself how many times I had misjudged him, just because I didn't know anything about him. "Thanks, Clay," I simply answered. It felt good to have someone who didn't need long explanations.  
  
"You're welcome." Clay raised his bottle to me. I returned the gesture.  
  
"Don't take me as an example, though," he said after a minute.  
  
I choked on my beer. "What do you mean?" I asked, once my fit of coughing was over.  
  
Clay's expression was very open and sincere, he looked totally different from how I was used to seeing him at work. "I said that I dreaded the idea of going through that ordeal again. But I've never met another woman like Shirin. If I do... maybe I'll take the chance."  
  
"Just to break completely if you lose her, too?" I felt I was getting angry, maybe because I felt that he was right.  
  
"You're shutting life out, Harm. And you're hurting Mac. Just be honest for once, okay? If something happened to her now, would you suffer any less just because you kept your distance?"  
  
Dad, that man deserves his reputation as a good observer. I didn't know how to answer his question and I suddenly understood something else. "You care for Mac, don't you?"  
  
Looking openly at me, Clay again gave me that small, wry smile of his. "Guilty as charged," he answered, "But not the way you think. True, she reminds me of Shirin, but surely not as strongly as she must remind you of Diane. And," his melancholy smile widened a little, "Whenever I might feel inclined to think about... possibilities, I just have to look at the two of you and I know that I'd never stand a chance anyway."  
  
"Clay..." I think I was blushing. Embarrassed, I took the empty bottles to put them away. I heard him chuckle behind my back.  
  
"Oh, come on, Harm, still in denial?"  
  
Sighing deeply, I leaned against my kitchen cupboards, my arms crossed in front of my chest, defeated. "No, I'm not. You're right, Clay. I don't even dare to think about what I might feel if something happened to Mac, even now while I'm still trying to stay out of it. I thought you understood that."  
  
"I do," he answered. "But let me just say one thing: unlike me, you've been offered the same blessing twice. If you throw that chance away just because you're too afraid, be sure that I'll be there to chew your sorry six for the rest of your days. For Mac's sake," he added with a small, woebegone smile that held the slightest edge of guilt. He left shortly after as we'd see each other anyway at the airport the next day.  
  
I can tell you, Dad: Clay was fully aware that he'd gotten quite a few wheels turning inside my head. Damn him. I'm sure that was what he wanted to achieve from the start of the whole conversation. But I couldn't get his words out of my mind: 'unlike me, you've been offered the same blessing twice...' Strangely enough, imagining that Clay might feel something more than friendship towards Mac didn't disturb me half as much as I thought it would. Although I was still mad at him for sending us into yet another crazy operation, I could be sure now that he cared for her and would never willingly make her do something that he felt was too dangerous for her. Maybe, it really is my over-protectiveness that always gets me this close to punching him whenever Mac's involved in one of his missions. He sees her abilities for what they are. I somehow can't do that. That's all part of the problem, isn't it?  
  
Okay, let's move on with the story. I didn't get to see Mac until yesterday morning, when we all met with Bensen for our first navigator/driver training unit. As soon as I witnessed how they greeted each other with a peck on the cheek, laughing, I felt the strong urge to grab that guy and beat the hell out of him. One look at Clay who was watching me with a knowing expression... and I only took a deep breath and let it be. Mac deserves friends outside the office. But couldn't they just be female, short and ugly? Please?  
  
Mac looks smashing. As worn out and used as her driver's suit is - it hugs and caresses every curve of her body, making me wonder once more if I'll ever get to see what's beneath the fabric. She got her hair cut very short (not quite down to stubble length, she can still comb it). It clings to her head like a dark brown satin cap, making her huge eyes seem larger still. I finally gave in to the inevitable and had my hair cut to something near zero. I avoid looking into any mirror ever since. How can people willingly wear their hair like this? Naturally bald people like the admiral can be good-looking, but, come on, me?? Gunny commented on how I looked like the classic Hollywood action hero but you know what, Dad? I don't care! This is Douglas Vandenberg, not me. Ugh.  
  
Yesterday was spent with easy tasks for the navigators. Bensen wanted us to get used to doing our work in the constantly moving, bumping cars that went at high speed. So he only told Mac and Gunny to take us on a tour around the training course that they had spent the last three weeks on. Webb and I had to make out positions of certain landmarks and so on. I already knew a little about the course. Mac had sent me a few e-mails to D.C., telling me about the training. So I was prepared for a really rough ride but I surely wasn't prepared for her driving. Dad, she made my blood freeze in my veins! That woman's one hell of a driver. And I sure as hell felt like hell once we got back. Harmon Rabb, Jr. seasick? Never. Airsick? That's an insult. Carsick? Uh oh. I'll have to take a major quantity of Superpep Travel Sickness chewing gums with me to Africa if I really want to survive this trip.  
  
Today's training was an outright catastrophe. We were told to set off west, far off any existing roads, and then meet again in four to five hours at a meeting point that Bensen had given us the coordinates of. We started twenty minutes after Webb and Gunny so that none of us could see the others. Mac and I hadn't exchanged a single word in private yet, and we knew that we were both equally uncomfortable in the close confines of the car. So we drove in silence, except for the navigation instructions I gave her.  
  
"You looked a little green yesterday," Mac finally stated without looking at me.  
  
I couldn't help smiling. "You embarrassed my stomach with your driving, Marine."  
  
Still, she didn't look at me but I saw the corners of her mouth twitch. "Just put your head between your knees once you get out. I heard that helps."  
  
"Ha ha..." Normally, I would have wanted to smack her for turning my own advice back on me but our silent chuckling had considerably lessened the tension and I was glad for it.  
  
The truce didn't last long, though. We still didn't talk and the tension again rose all the more, the longer we were silent. I physically felt Mac's presence close to me and I caught myself looking at her way too often. Her new look produces a strong effect on me, Dad. She seems more... private somehow. I admire her strength and determination, how she handles the car, and at the same time, with her hair hidden under her helmet, her eyes seem twice as dark and twice as big, making her look even more vulnerable, a woman to just take in your arms and protect from the evil of the world. Imagine my state of mind. In addition to that, my stomach started out with its leaps once again and I tried to will the nausea back in check. And, last but not least, Webb's words were still spinning through my mind and I felt that I had to talk to the woman beside me.  
  
In short, I was concentrating on everything but my navigator's duties. I had kept track of the coordinates - but I hadn't checked on the maps if the route that my GPS calculated was functional for our vehicle. Before long we were stuck in deep sand. I could have slapped myself backward and forward. Mac's stare was icy as she turned off the motor and got out of the car.  
  
"Come on, squid, let's dig," she only snapped, throwing me a shovel from the trunk.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mac." It sounded lame.  
  
She straightened and looked at me, leaning on her shovel. "Damn, Harm, that was your job. I was wondering for quite some time about where we were going. We're not on a holiday safari here!"  
  
Somehow her anger got to me. "You could have told me if you had doubts, Mac!"  
  
From the look in her eyes I could see that now, she was really ticked. "I'm already doing all the work here! We're supposed to be a team, as in T-E-A- M, remember? This kind of driving is fatiguing, you know? How do you think I'll get us through the Sahara if all you do is sit by and take photos? I have to be able to rely on what you tell me! Okay, I know that in private, this team stuff never worked out for us, but until now I had the impression that at least at work it did!" She turned and fiercely dug her shovel in the sand behind the left front wheel.  
  
"Mac, I'm really sorry, I..."  
  
"Oh, come on, Harm, spare me your excuses, just this once. I've had too many of them already." Mac didn't even look at me. So, resigned and hurt, I quietly dug on until we could get the plates of corrugated iron under the wheels that serve for freeing the car from situations such as this.  
  
We arrived at our meeting point two hours after Gunny and Webb. Mac didn't look at me any more than was absolutely necessary.  
  
Your son thoroughly screwed up today, Dad. I feel dreadful. I think I'd better just go to bed and try to forget about all this. I can't concentrate on what I'm writing anyway.  
  
Please, Dad, don't be angry with me, too. I miss you. Harm  
  
Dec. 31st Cairo Hilton  
  
Dad,  
  
It's 2338 on New Year's Eve and all I have to do is sit in my hotel room, all by myself, and write to you. Pathetic, isn't it?  
  
I'm sorry that I didn't get back to you any earlier, except for our 'personal' conversation on Christmas Eve - I mean, at least I hope you were there when I talked to you; after all, it wasn't the Wall, it was nothing but a starry night out in the desert. But I think I could feel you near me. You can't imagine how good that felt, Dad.  
  
As I told you then, things haven't been all that great between Mac and me. After the incident that I referred to in my last letter, Mac and I snapped into professional mode. We even began to call each other by our undercover names - to 'get into the role' as we explained to the outside world but I think she knows as well as I do that it's a lot easier to get on well with each other if we leave Harmon and Sarah completely out of the scenario. Superficially, our team works quite well now. I'm chewing gum like a camel while she drives but at least I manage to keep my nausea in check. Calling her 'Deb' after a little while made me (kind of) forget that it's the love of my life that I was talking to and the tension lessened.  
  
It's also fortunate that I can keep my eyes glued to my instruments and instructions. Not seeing her makes it easier. We don't talk much but it's not too awkward, either. After a few days I got the idea of how to navigate a rally course and we keep closing up on Gunny and Webb - oh, I'm sorry, 'Felipe' and 'Carl' - although they're still always first in the training. But at least we stay in the competition. After all, it's them, not us, who are mainly chasing the criminals.  
  
It's only at night that the whole situation keeps getting to me. Mac and I are together all day, so I can't stop seeing her at night. Don't ask, Dad - I'll only tell you that my fantasies are pure bliss, well... fantasies. You know how that works. During the last ten days, I haven't really slept much. And now we're in Africa and I'm suffering from terrible jetlag. Great. I think I'm really fit right now to do the world's most difficult rally. I still feel like I'd want to strangle Clay if I hadn't gotten to like him so much recently.  
  
We were on the same plane from Dulles to Cairo as Harriet and Tiner with the ZBS team. Luckily, we managed to stay unobtrusive or the TV people would have at once wanted interviews about why we were only traveling now or where we prepared and so on. But we watched our coworkers a little. Especially Harriet, she's a real professional. She chats and laughs and makes friends everywhere. Whenever I look into my mailbox, there's a new report from her and Tiner, filling us in on the gossip behind the scenes. Until now, it was only TV talk but I hope that she can keep it up, now that she comes near the racing teams as well.  
  
The transatlantic flight was pure torture for me. I was sitting next to Mac and I watched her the whole time she slept. She's just so beautiful, Dad. Her face is that of an angel, and she looks so fragile because the Marine façade's all gone once she sleeps. Seeing her like that only makes my fear grow because it seems just so much more likely that something might happen to her.  
  
Still, during the long flight, something inside me moved. I can't really explain how it happened but the nearer we got to our destination, the more I felt the realization grow in my heart that Clay was right. If I didn't take the chance it would mean throwing away a gift from heaven. And maybe, if I open up and Sarah lets me be a part of her life, maybe I can protect her from any danger. I know, I'm already over-protective. I told you so myself, but perhaps I needn't be any more, once we're together, because I won't have to continuously come up with new excuses to cover her back. I'd just be there and maybe she wouldn't even notice that I'm protecting her.  
  
Dad, I want her in my life. I really do. And I'll talk to her as soon as I get the chance. It's just that I still don't know how to cope with my fears, but for the New Year, I swore to myself that I'd conquer this. I will. Maybe God lets miracles happen.  
  
New Year is approaching fast. Twelve minutes to go. I'll get back to you next year, okay? Give me an hour. Bye!  
  
0028 - I'm back. Speaking of miracles: I just got one. I know I didn't deserve it. But it happened all the same. My heart is still beating fast. Give me a minute to chill out and I'll tell you all about it. Life is great.  
  
After I interrupted your letter, I got myself a glass of water and went out on the balcony to toast the New Year by myself. I knew that Mac had gone to bed hours ago because we have to do the first stage tomorrow. So I was rather surprised to find her awake and out on her balcony as well. She smiled at me and suddenly I couldn't wait any longer. I signaled to her that I'd come over and was gone before she could object.  
  
My heart was racing when I knocked at her door. She opened a moment later, in her bathrobe, a slightly confused look on her face. "Harm? Is everything okay?"  
  
I smiled a little uneasily. "Yeah, sure. I just... no one should be alone on New Year's Eve, Mac."  
  
"Okay..." she let her voice trail off, her tone carefully masking whatever feelings lay beneath the surface. She opened the door a little wider, letting me step past her. Together we went out on her balcony. Four minutes to midnight.  
  
Mac looked at me with her huge dark eyes that I love so much. Being scrutinized by her makes me feel like I'm baring my soul without saying a word. I really wonder why she can't read me through them. It would make everything just so much easier.  
  
We quietly let our gazes wander over the roofs and streets of Cairo. "There's something on your mind, squid," Mac observed after a rather long interval of silence, looking at me.  
  
"Yeah," I whispered, gathering my courage and stepping closer. I saw her draw back at first, fear in her eyes, and it felt dreadful. But then she took a deep breath and stood her ground, looking up at me.  
  
"What is it?" she asked.  
  
"I..."  
  
Just then, a siren was heard and fireworks started to paint the whole sky in all colors imaginable. I quickly changed my plan of action and, trembling, leaned in. Our lips touched without moving, just lingering on each other's for a long minute. I closed my eyes and only hoped that the world would stop spinning.  
  
When we parted I encircled her with my free arm and rested my cheek against hers. "Help me let go, Sarah," I whispered, "Please, help me let go."  
  
"Are you sure?" she only asked, drawing back slightly to watch my expression.  
  
I only nodded, too tense to speak.  
  
Mac leaned into my embrace again, resting her face in the crook of my neck. "I can't help you, Harm," she answered, "Because that's something that you must come to terms with on your own. But I can show you whenever you're on the right way. And if you want me to, I'll be there for you when things get difficult."  
  
I was so overwhelmed that she hadn't turned me down, even though her answer still held many 'if's'. "Please do," I breathed into her hair.  
  
She drew back slightly. "Are you going to tell me one day why all this scares you so much, Harm? Apart from the things I already know?" She had spoken quietly and I could feel her eyes on me.  
  
"One day, yes, I promise, but please don't press me to do it now," I pleaded.  
  
"Hold on a minute, will you?" she asked, quickly disappearing into the room and stepping out again shortly after, carrying something small. "I'll take your promise to tell me one day as new foundation of the bridge you burnt between the two of us," she explained quietly, placing the object in my hand.  
  
I looked at it: it was a small wooden brick stone. "What's this for?" I asked, at a loss.  
  
"It's one out of seven that you need to build that arch that fascinated little AJ so much. I bought three sets of bricks at the museum store, remember?"  
  
Again, I nodded, intrigued.  
  
Mac reached up and caressed my cheek with her fingertips. "Whenever I give you one of these it means that you made a big step in the right direction. Let's just see how far you come in the following two weeks. Back in D.C. we'll decide what we make of it, okay?"  
  
I caught her hand with mine, resting it on my cheek. "Okay... Mac?"  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
She gave me one of her breathtaking smiles. "Anytime, Harm. Thank you for trying."  
  
I leaned in once again and kissed her briefly. "Happy New Year."  
  
"Happy New Year, Harm."  
  
With that I left her, knowing that we both needed sleep - and knowing that we'd both sleep well.  
  
I can't believe there's still hope, Dad! I'm all giddy. I love you. Harm  
  
Jan 1st Wadi Rayan, near Al Fayum, Egypt  
  
Dad,  
  
Your son is a racing driver! Officially! Okay, to be more correct, your son's the navigator of the sexiest female racing driver on earth but still... I can't believe we're actually in this, Mac and I. We're officially partaking in the 'Dakar' as they call it now. ('Paris' is often omitted since it's been a long time since they last started in the French capital, and - as you see - even starting the race in France isn't a 'must' anymore.)  
  
So today was our first stage - boy, was I scared! Of nearly everything. Apart from the 'Mac-and-I-in-the-car' problem that I already explained to you, and apart from my fear for my stomach, I was scared I wouldn't find the route. I was scared we'd have a breakdown and I'd have to repair our high tech vehicle on the road. All drivers do that, but they know their cars inside out. I don't. I was scared of getting stuck in the sand. And so on... there's a lot to be scared of when something's totally new to you and you don't feel prepared. I was sweating even before it got really hot. And it did, Dad, it did...  
  
Before the start, Mac and Gunny tossed a coin to decide who'd have to watch out for Dunfoss first and the task fell upon us. She took it stoically, knowing she'd have to go at full force on the very first day. I subconsciously made sure that I had enough chewing gum with me. Luckily I did, and it helped (a little). I was sick only twice today and I even managed to warn Mac beforehand so she could let me out in time. Maybe you feel you need to remind me that today's stage was only 145 km long.  
  
[A.N.: The official rally site states all distances in kilometers so I take it up, being more familiar with it anyway than with miles. Just for the record: 1 mile = ~ 1.6 km]  
  
That's true. And you might want to remind me, too, that the special track was all city traffic.  
  
[A.N.: A stage consists of liaison and special track, the first being just the means of getting from A to B, the second always offering difficult tasks for the drivers and navigators.]  
  
That's true as well. Dad, I know very well that I'm facing entire days in the car, stages of something in-between 700 and 900 km, with hundreds of kilometers of special track, but I think that, for the premiere and given my jetlag and lack of sleep and all the adrenaline, being sick only twice is worth something. I'm determined to conquer this!  
  
We started at a decent hour of the day, at 0830 local, right under the pyramids. What a sight they are! They seem so smooth when you're far away, but once you come near you see all those huge blocks of stone that are taller than you are and all you can feel is awe and compassion for the tens of thousands of people who built them thousands of years ago. I'd have said that the pyramids alone were worth this adventure, had it not been for Mac meeting that German rally champion I told you about. She observed how we stood there, together with Gunny and Webb, admiring the pyramids, and approached us, together with her navigator.  
  
"Prepare yourself to see even more breathtaking sights," she said with a smile. "Hi, I'm Jutta."  
  
Mac answered with an easy grin. "I know, you're a legend, even to newcomers. I'm Deb. Nice to meet you." Then she motioned to me. "This is Doug, my navigator. And," indicating Webb and Gunny, "Carl and Felipe are our team mates. We're mostly in for the fun of it all, no real interest in the ranking."  
  
I acknowledged with a grin, a wave and a nod. Fun. Sure.  
  
"Then I suggest you keep your eyes open. The desert is one of the most beautiful places on earth," the German answered. "And should you need any advice, Deb, don't hesitate to ask me once we're in bivouac. We female drivers have to stick together. Good luck." She gave Mac a good-natured pat on the back, smiled at us and turned to get back to her car.  
  
"To you, too," Mac answered, making her turn and smile once more.  
  
"Might come in handy that she doesn't consider us a threat for the ranking," Gunny observed. "I feel like I could in fact use some good coaching." Mac silently frowned consent.  
  
I don't really remember the last minutes before take-off - excuse my use of pilot talk here, Dad, but the situation somehow reminded my of my last tour on a carrier. We got in line - no mass start - secured our helmets, tested our comm-link with Bensen, strapped in, waited for the signal and roared off. The only thing missing was the catapult.  
  
Mac was very tense at first. She seemed to have difficulties to adjust to the situation. Somehow it's reassuring to know that you're not the only one who's scared and trying to hide it. Eventually, though, she relaxed behind the wheel and let her race training take over. Our speed grew higher, the bumps heavier, the jumps wider and her smile broader. And my stomach feebler, but I already told you that.  
  
One of Webb's people among the resources and supplies bunch managed to bug Will Dunfoss' car, thus providing us with a GPS reading of his current position. Clay and I have to be careful handling the device because the use of GPS is not allowed for all stages, only for some. But if he manages to hide biological weapons in his car we should at least get through with a GPS and a secure comm-link. You know the effect of reading in a moving car, don't you, Dad? Let me just say that studying the road book, observing the GPS readouts of Dunfoss' whereabouts and signing his route on the map didn't really help me to feel better.  
  
Apart from what I told you, nothing important happened during our first ride. Mac and I both kept silent for most of the time. We had no spare brain cells left for light conversation. Hopefully that will improve once we get used to the racing routine. Mac gets to see a lot more than I do of where we're going. Navigating is a poor job. All you do is look at your lap. The few times that I felt I had the leisure to look up, I got a little impression of what's awaiting us out in the desert. Jutta is right - it's an awesome sight: high, seemingly smooth sand dunes in either sandy yellow or light orange alternating with sharp, fierce rock formations in all natural colors imaginable. I'll surely steal a few looks now and then.  
  
Just as the burning sun had successfully turned our car into a Finnish sauna, we arrived at our bivouac for tonight. Many drivers consider this spot one of the most beautiful bivouacs to be had on a rally course. We're in Wadi Rayan. A wadi is a dry river and there are many of them out here in the Sahara. They say it's dangerous to follow them because in the unlikely event of any rain, wadis become torrents in no time. There are statistics that more people have drowned in the desert than have died of dehydration. Nevertheless I feel safe here, on this spot situated between two rock outcrops. After all, the rally organizers chose it, so one can presume it's safe, right? Not long ago I got to see the most breathtaking desert sunset I ever witnessed - and this is just the beginning. Dad, I have to confess that right now I'm feeling quite adventurous. Is that a bad or a good sign? I wouldn't know.  
  
Just in case you're wondering - Mac and I are bivouac-ing together. I'd never have guessed but many drivers actually sleep in tents out here, so Bensen equipped us with everything he thought necessary. He's here with us as our team boss. When it came to setting up the camp I noticed that he'd have loved to take my place, but luckily Webb helped me prevent that by explaining that Mac and I always shared our hotel rooms and that we worked best as a team when we were together all the time. I was infinitely grateful for Webb's poker face - one look at Mac and we were done for. We simultaneously murmured something about having to seize the last sunrays to get our tent up and fled, trying to stifle our laughter. The result is that I find myself unexpectedly on a camping trip with Mac. Anyone think I'm complaining?  
  
Mac just came over and asked me what I was doing.  
  
"Diary," I only murmured, not daring to look up. I think I was blushing.  
  
Immediately, Mac's laughter warmed my heart. "You keep a diary? You, of all people?"  
  
"Well, yeah." I looked up and, with an uneasy grin, met her merry gaze. Her dark eyes were sparkling with barely contained laughter. I felt my breath catch in my throat.  
  
"I guess it's... uhm... private?" she ventured, trying to stay sober.  
  
"You bet!" I snapped at her, inwardly swearing over the fact that I showed such uneasiness at the idea that she might read my ramblings. She must wonder what secrets I've got to hide.  
  
"Whoa, calm down," she answered, new laughter ringing in her voice. "Don't worry, flyboy, I won't intrude."  
  
"Mac, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."  
  
"Hey," she said gently, sitting down cross-legged beside me and placing a hand on my arm. "Everyone has the right to a little privacy, especially in a place as this." Her eyes shone with understanding. "I was just surprised, but actually I think knowing that you keep a diary is kind of cute. Maybe I could read some of it someday?"  
  
"Someday I'll read all of it to you," I answered, earnestly looking at her. She instantly understood that I had just made her another promise to open up when I was ready.  
  
"I'm glad," she simply answered, leaning in and brushing her lips to my temple. "Good night, Harm."  
  
"Good night," I answered as she got up and crouched into her sleeping bag. I think I managed a slight smile. I'm glad she's here with me.  
  
Tomorrow things are going to get rough, Dad. We're looking at a total of 722 km, 416 of which are special track. The start is scheduled for 0530. I don't want to think of it right now. Wish you were here, too.  
  
Harm  
  
Jan. 2nd Dakhla, Egypt  
  
Dad,  
  
Please, don't be angry with me for my bad handwriting, but I'm barely managing to sit up straight and holding the pen in your hand gets really difficult if you're as thoroughly exhausted as I am. I think this note to you will be rather short - nothing really significant happened anyway, apart from the fact that we began to see where people get the idea that rally driving is fun. Good news: I wasn't sick all day! (Although I felt close to it more than once.) Maybe there's hope.  
  
As I said yesterday, we had to cover a total of 722 km today 416 of which were special track. Poor Mac is lying flat on her insulated mattress; she fell asleep the moment she stretched out. She was fabulous, Dad, really. My respect towards her driving skills is growing steadily.  
  
We're in the middle of the desert now and today's stage gave us a quick survey of what driving in the desert can be like. First, we had to get down from Wadi Rayan. Man, try to do that if you don't have a reliable street to use! They call it track but - to be honest - I didn't see any difference once we officially started our first off-track section. Problem was, too, that we had to do the downhill when dawn had barely set in as departure for the cars was scheduled at 0530. Anyway, Mac managed the descent remarkably well and I could tell she was just as relieved as I was, once we'd arrived at the bottom. She gave me a small smile and I briefly squeezed her thigh.  
  
Good thing was that we could limit all our concentration on the course as it was Webb and Gunny's job to keep an eye on Dunfoss today. Today's special track was very fast and twisting, really felt like "auto racing" - rather easy to see where we were supposed to be going, so I could indeed look up from time to time. The desert is gorgeous - it seems there's no end to it and all of a sudden, you begin to feel very small and very free. If your car runs smoothly you can't help really enjoying the ride.  
  
Most of the times that I could detach my eyes from the road book, I looked at Mac, though. I could see she was sweating from the strain to keep going at high speed without leaving the track. But once she felt safe ground under our wheels... Dad, it was as if she'd grown wings. First she smirked. Then she smiled. Then she grinned widely. And finally she started laughing out loud as we seemed to fly over the even ground. In every curve she'd let out a whoop or a shriek and I couldn't help laughing with her.  
  
It's hard to describe what went on deep inside us. You know, we could completely let go of every intellectual effort to get near each other. The feeling of the race made us connect on a level that felt incredibly intimate because our vegetative reactions were running in synchrony. We just understood each other. Everything that normally gets in the way suddenly seemed so far and unimportant. It was like some state of trance. Mac had a glow on her face that I've rarely seen so far. Dad, if I wasn't already head over heels in love with her, I'd have fallen in love with her again today. Helplessly and incurably.  
  
At the second control point, Bensen contacted us via intercom. "Hey, you okay? Deb? Doug?"  
  
Mac's voice rang with laughter. "Great! How are you?"  
  
Bensen chuckled a little incredulous. "Deb? That you? Where's your grim determination?"  
  
Mac just grinned at me, winking. My heart leapt. "Oh, I thought I might just leave it in the trunk for today, together with the spare wheels. Is there a problem?" Grinning, she waited for his answer.  
  
His voice was wary, to say the least, and I couldn't help feeling real satisfaction when I thought I'd detected some amount of genuine jealousy in his words. "Did you and Doug have a drink or what?"  
  
"We don't need that to feel good!" she replied merrily, again winking at me. My world started spinning slightly and I felt like some lovesick teenager in high school.  
  
Bensen's frown was audible, his voice slightly annoyed. "Kellerman, Vandenberg, you're currently on position 53. Try to keep it up." He didn't say anything else. 'Gotcha!' I thought, smirking.  
  
To make a long story short (Did I say I wouldn't write much today? I guess an emotional high can overcome any kind of exhaustion.) - we didn't hold that position as we had to cross a few dunes and ended up digging ourselves out on top of the last one. But still, we're on rank 87 now, out of 153 cars, Gunny and Webb ranking a little further behind. Dunfoss and Marx are currently on rank 13 but Webb keeps telling us that the distance doesn't matter that much as long as we don't lose him. So, all in all, we're holding up great. Not bad for newcomers, right, Dad? And - frankly - I don't give a damn about our position as long as we fulfill our mission and have such fun doing it like we did today.  
  
Mac stirred and looked over to me. When she saw that I was busy with my diary, she gave me the sweetest indulgent smile and went back to sleep. I wish you could see her.  
  
Tomorrow we'll be doing a round course that's said to be as spectacular as the scenery. Well, I guess I won't see too much of it as I'll be on Dunfoss- duty again. But at least we can be rather sure that he won't pull off anything just yet as we're still in Egypt. It's more likely to happen somewhere on the road in Libya.  
  
The only thing that we're a little afraid of - okay, not a little, a lot - is a steep descent from a sand-covered cliff that awaits us about 20 km from the finish. In the road book, they say that, once you're down, it's impossible to go up again, and if you chose the wrong track... well, let's just hope we make a lucky choice!  
  
Good night, Dad. My pen just fell out of my hand. Guess that means I'd better curl up and sleep like my Marine does.  
  
Love you. Harm  
  
Jan. 3rd Dakhla, Egypt  
  
Dear Dad,  
  
Something wonderful happened today: Mac considered me worthy of the second little brick stone! Let me just tell you how it came to pass (apart from that, there's not really much to tell).  
  
We rode 606 km today, 352 were special track of various kinds. And up to kilometer 580 (more or less), today's ride was paradise. No technical problems, always a secure reading of our wannabe-terrorists' whereabouts, no bad weather conditions, a few clouds that kept the sun in check... And personally, yesterday's stage really did shift some weight in the relationship between me and my breathtaking driver. For the first time we were completely at ease with each other from the start. I'd gotten so accustomed to the underlying strain that, when it wasn't there, I realized just how strong it was.  
  
What little I saw of the scenery today will be saved as a long-term memory worth keeping. Our course twisted and turned in between the giant moving dunes of western Egypt, some more than 100 yards high, alternating with dark, impressive rocky stone massifs. The second part brought us across valleys of white marble stone. I won't even attempt to describe the view, let us just say that it was unlike anything I ever imagined in connection with the term 'desert'.  
  
At about three quarters of the way, I noticed that Mac was growing quiet. A small frown had crept on her forehead (as far as I could see under her helmet). Encouraged by the new level of intimacy that we'd reached, I dared to address her about it.  
  
"Hey, Mac, you worried about something?"  
  
She let out an uneasy chuckle. "Not at all. Just that we're in considerable danger of dropping out of the race today if we don't get that descent right and can't finish the stage."  
  
I subconsciously put my hand on her thigh again. "Hey, we'll do just fine. I promise."  
  
Yet, she didn't seem too convinced. "It's easy for you to say that, squid, it's me who's at the wheel. If I screw it up..." she let her voice trail off.  
  
"I can screw it up just as well as you if I give you the wrong directions," I tried to reassure her. My intentions backfired, though.  
  
"Oh, great. I feel a lot better now," she murmured sarcastically. I didn't feel offended because I knew that she wasn't taking her anger out on me. She was just nervous.  
  
I didn't reply and I think Mac was grateful for my silence. We limited our conversation to navigation instructions only. I tried to give her as many indications about the road as I could possibly dig up and I was glad to see that, after a while, she stopped thinking them through so much and just trusted my judgment.  
  
The track was getting worse all the time. At a certain point, all we could do was pretend it existed - not really a reassuring fact when you know that a cliff's edge is nearing and you don't know when and where to expect it. I began to feel just as uncomfortable as her. You know they say that the navigator's always the last to see the edge...  
  
I was giving Mac further instructions every minute by the time she suddenly cut in. "Harm, this doesn't feel right."  
  
Confused, I looked up. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I think we'd better turn east now, not later."  
  
I was at a loss. "Mac, the cliff's farther north. I can see it on the map. Why doesn't this feel right to you?"  
  
Frowning, she replied in a rather thoughtful voice. "I don't know... it just doesn't. Can you double-check your route with that of Dunfoss, please? He knows where to start that descent."  
  
"I'm sorry, Mac. Today he started half an hour later than we did. He hasn't reached the cliff yet so I don't know which way he'd choose."  
  
"Damn..." she swore very low, gripping the steering wheel tighter.  
  
Once again, I tried to calm her. "What I calculated looks really good, Mac. You'll see, we'll be back in bivouac in no time."  
  
"Call it a premonition, Harm, but I've got some gut feeling that we need to go eastward now, not in a few miles."  
  
In other words, she'd had some vision. I knew better than to question her intuition but I was pretty much convinced that my calculations were accurate. "Mac," I tried to reason with her, "Just relax and trust me."  
  
"Heck, Harm, it's not that I don't trust you! It's... man, I can't even explain it to myself!"  
  
She was getting agitated but I didn't give up yet. "Back in the States, you gave me a long speech about the concept of teamwork and about how it was my job to instruct you," I argued, trying to sound as calm as possible. "That's all I'm doing here, trying to make it easier for you."  
  
She shot me a quick look and I was startled at seeing the panic in her eyes. "Harm, please..."  
  
"Mac, my reading says..."  
  
"Harm!" she shouted, apprehension ringing in her voice. "We don't have the time for discussions now. Please, trust me this once, okay? Just this once!"  
  
It was the urgency in her voice that made me comply. Although her intuition contradicted completely to what I could see on the map, I decided to let her take the lead. "I'm trusting you, Mac," I said simply. "With my life. Go east."  
  
And suddenly, she didn't even have the time to react. A small gap in the plateau that we were crossing came into view on our right side. As if on autopilot, Mac didn't hesitate a second and steered the car right into it, following down the rather steep and narrow road that opened before us.  
  
I had no idea where we were going, Dad, and rationally, I knew that we might just have bought our ticket out of the race. But something deep inside made me relax in the odd conviction that Mac was doing the right thing. And I think that my calm demeanor was palpable for her, too, as she seemed to relax the farther we rode on. Half an hour later, we reached the bivouac and quickly passed our knowledge on to Webb and Gunny.  
  
Afterwards we learned that, until a few weeks ago, the course that I'd calculated would have been the safer one, but it had recently been buried by a minor landslide and was right now inaccessible. At least ten cars had dropped out of the race today. Mac's intuition had saved us.  
  
I joined her as she was quietly watching yet another breathtaking desert sunset. At first, she didn't seem to notice my presence.  
  
"That was outstanding, jarhead," I said softly, putting my hand on her shoulder.  
  
She turned at me and smiled. "Thank you. And before you start asking: no, I have no idea what was going on in my brain."  
  
Chuckling, I briefly squeezed her shoulder and then put my hand down. "You know what, Mac? I don't think I want to know. The important thing is that we're still in the race. That was your doing, yours alone. I'm very proud of you, you know..."  
  
She gave me another beautiful smile before her expression turned sober, her eyes never leaving mine. "I wanted to thank you, too," she said in a low voice.  
  
"For what?" I asked, confused.  
  
"For trusting me."  
  
I was embarrassed. "Mac, you know I trust you..."  
  
"Today was different," she cut in quietly. "You trusted me not as the voice of reason or as the skilled lawyer or the combat-experienced Marine. You trusted me against your instruments and against your better judgment. And you did it in full. I noticed your calmness. That was very unlike you. Thank you for this proof of your confidence, Harm. It means very much to me."  
  
While I was still searching for any words, she took my hand and put something into it. I looked and my heart skipped a beat: it was the little brick stone. I think my smile must have gone from ear to ear.  
  
Smiling very warmly in return, Mac reached up and closed the distance. Our lips met in a very soft kiss that seemed to reflect the very trust we had been talking about, lingering for a few endless moments.  
  
I'm going to take that kiss with me to dreamland now, Dad. You can't possibly imagine how important a little piece of wood can become if it's accompanied by the feeling of Mac's lips on your own.  
  
Your overwhelmed son Harm  
  
To be continued... 


	2. Chapter Two

'Teamwork' - Part Two Author: Daenar Disclaimer: See Part One  
  
[Excerpts from Harm's diary]  
  
Jan. 4th Khofra Libya  
  
Dear Dad,  
  
Over the moon, down in the dumps. That about sums it up for me. Today was... wait, before I dig up all the swearwords that ever crossed my mind, let's just say that I paid for yesterday's bliss. Dearly. But unlike all the other days, it wasn't my fault, not entirely, at least.  
  
We weren't the only team who didn't get it right today. In fact, the whole classification seems to be upside down after today's stage. Even among the top teams, only Jutta and her navigator found the right road. They are leading the whole ranking now, with more than half an hour ahead of the Japanese Masuoka. Mac and I, Gunny and Clay and - luckily - even Dunfoss and Marx, like about fifty percent of all competitors, had either navigation problems or technical defects. Or both. And in addition to that, we had our first encounter with our 'mission'. Actually, that was how, in our case, the whole mess started out. I'll get into the particulars later.  
  
In short, Mac and I are ranked 131st now but that wouldn't matter to me if Mac and I hadn't had a fight today that exceeded everything that ever came up between us, as far as I remember. This time, though, it was her fault. We haven't made up yet, and I won't if she doesn't come to me first. You know I can take a lot, Dad, but this time, she hurt me in a way that I didn't even think her capable of. I'm still completely shaken.  
  
I know it was probably the continuous strain that made her freak out like that. And I sensed from the start that she was obviously feeling a little awkward and unsure after coming to a mutual understanding the night before. The problem was that I couldn't really do anything to set her mind at ease during today's stage - my eyes were glued to the map more than ever or we probably wouldn't even have arrived at all. Today's was maybe the most difficult of all stages for the navigators. Imagine, even the reconnaissance team needed a full three days to find all the passes when they tried out the route!  
  
It was the second longest stage, 859 km with 789 km of special track. We had to cross all kinds of terrain, fast track, off-road, canyons, dunes, ergs (you know, the immense sand seas)... Bensen told us to follow the road- book to the letter to find our way between the dunes that are up to 100 yards high and consist of very soft sand, or in the vast fields of small dunes in between which we had to search for the remainders of the road. The hardest task was to discover one particularly well-hidden pass between two stone massifs that you can't cross at any other point as they are 50-yard high cliffs.  
  
We started at 0430 in the morning. When Bensen came to wake us up, Mac and I didn't really have the time to exchange good-morning smiles, let alone talk about how we felt about last night. All had to be prepared in a big hurry. I managed to throw her a quick "Good luck, Deb!" when we were already strapped in our seats. She could barely smile back, then we got our departure signal.  
  
I felt the tension, Dad. Mac was unsure about how I was feeling. I guess she feared that I might be having second thoughts and be about to back out once more. I longed to relieve her but I didn't get the chance. It was still dark so I needed every bit of my concentration to figure out the road. We still took a few wrong turns and even had to get out and dig twice. We knew we had to do it quickly if we didn't want to lose too much time on Gunny and Webb who were glued to Dunfoss today. And Dunfoss apparently tried to recover as much of the time that he had already lost to the leading teams as possible, in order to stay in the competition. So Mac and I were digging fiercely, as fast as we could. You can't really talk about your inmost feelings in a situation like that.  
  
Once the sun was up I thought we had covered the most difficult part but I was wrong. About halfway into the stage, we crossed the border into Libya. Clay had told us that now, action would be imminent on Dunfoss' part and that we should be prepared for the hunt. I had prayed that he would pull something off on a day when Mac and I weren't on watchdog duty, and God seems to have heard my wish. It just didn't help me very much because today was the worst possible day for it to happen. Yet it did.  
  
We found out later that it was all a false alarm. Marx isn't immune to navigation errors any more than we are but we couldn't possibly know that the moment it occurred.  
  
I had just relaxed a little and was thinking about how to say something encouraging to my Marine when our private comm-link cracked and Clay's frantic voice made it's way over to us.  
  
"Doug, do you copy?"  
  
"I read you. What's up? Over."  
  
"Objective goes for it. Over."  
  
I swore under my breath. "You sure? Over."  
  
"Positive. Keep following. Over."  
  
"Roger. Over and out." I instantly pulled out our additional map to start tracking and marking Dunfoss' whereabouts. "Mac," I addressed her without looking at her, "Prepare to leave the track."  
  
"Sh..." I heard her swear to herself, instantly becoming Lt. Col. Mackenzie and focusing on the mission. "Direction?"  
  
I was frantically searching for any indication that there was some kind of road that Dunfoss was following but from the data at hand, I couldn't be sure. So I just took the plunge. "276 degrees in about 800 yards."  
  
"Okay." She inhaled audibly and quickly pushed the air out of her lungs as if to brace herself.  
  
I kept my eyes glued to our, Webb's and Dunfoss' GPS readouts and at the point that I judged best, shouted: "Now!"  
  
Mac yanked the wheel around and we bumped and jumped off-road, always trying to stay on what little was left of what must once have been an old caravan trail. I fired driving instructions at her in a 30-seconds rhythm, she reacted as fast as she could, but still our speed reduced with every mile that we covered. Webb continued asking us every two minutes if we were still behind them. I kept confirming that we were, yet we could detect no sign of them. All in all, we both felt we were getting increasingly worried, angry and frustrated, all on top of the tension that had existed from the start.  
  
After about half an hour, the comm-link once again cracked.  
  
"Doug, do you read me?" Webb's voice seemed calmer and... awkward? I immediately tried to listen more closely.  
  
"Loud and clear, Carl," I answered warily. "What's the matter? Over."  
  
"Objective was mislead and is now trying to return to previous position. No action. Over."  
  
I emitted a groan and slammed my hand on the dashboard. "So what now?" I blurted out, longing to get rid of my energy by punching our favorite spook.  
  
"Go back to the track. Objective follows a route of about 045 degrees. Try to avoid that one. Go as quickly as possible because of tomorrow's starting position. Over." Clay's voice was all business by now.  
  
"Understood, over and out!" I snapped and violently switched off the comm- link. "Mac, turn around. False alarm!" I then shouted in frustration.  
  
This time, Mac didn't swear under her breath but spat out a few very unladylike expressions before stepping hard on the brakes and trying to turn our vehicle in the opposite direction. "Route?" she only called.  
  
I didn't answer immediately as I was still searching for a course. I knew we couldn't go back where we came from as we'd lose too much time trying to climb a few descents we had made earlier. We needed a new route but I didn't see any.  
  
"Harm! Route?" Mac shouted again, the urge evident in her voice.  
  
"Damn, give me a minute, will you?" I shouted back, measuring, reading, calculating.  
  
"We don't have the time!"  
  
"God, I know that!"  
  
"We can't risk losing too much time on Dunfoss!" Mac's rage was getting the better of her. I knew that if I didn't come up with something quickly, I'd meet her wrath. And suddenly, I felt I was getting mad at her because she was taking her frustration out on me. I knew I was reacting in the worst possible way but I couldn't bite my tongue quickly enough.  
  
"Just shut up and let me do my job!" I burst out and tried again to calculate our next move.  
  
I heard her suck in her breath but she remained quiet. Deadly quiet. Then suddenly I felt the car shake violently as, out of the blue and in a completely unreasonable maneuver, Mac turned left.  
  
My head jerked up, trying to get a clear picture of what she was doing. She had apparently discovered another ancient caravan trail and had taken the initiative.  
  
"Mac, are you crazy?" I cried at her, enraged. "You don't have a clue where the hell this leads!"  
  
"You left me no choice!" she answered fiercely.  
  
"I was just putting something together!" I replied. "You told me that was my job, remember? My freaking job!"  
  
"Obviously you're incapable of doing it!"  
  
Again, I used the dashboard as my punching ball. "And you obviously want to get us out for good!"  
  
"Yesterday you told me you trusted me!" Her raging was actually underlined by a bitter chuckle. "I should have known from the start that it was a damned lie!"  
  
Her words stung in my heart like very few things ever did before. I was too stunned to reply immediately. The next seconds passed like in slow motion. I was in a daze, helplessly lost to my sudden inward pain. Just what kind of impression had she gotten of me that she could suspect me of willfully deceiving her on such a crucial point of our relationship? Had she, on her part, ever really trusted me then? Dad, I haven't the slightest idea.  
  
I was so completely out of it that I didn't see it coming. Suddenly, Mac cried out, the car's nose dropped and with a violent slam we hit the ground a few yards below our former route's level. A very loud and nasty crushing sound was heard and suddenly the car stopped, its engine still running on full power.  
  
With all the force her lungs could muster, Mac shouted the F-word, opened her door and jumped out. I immediately followed. One look, and I knew what had happened: our front axle was broken. And I would be the one to repair it if we wanted so much as a chance to continue on our mission.  
  
Allowing my own rage to well up in full and judging that, this time, I was entitled to, I forcefully took off my helmet and threw it down, glaring at my team partner. Team? Yeah. Great team, indeed.  
  
"Congratulations, Mac!" I spat at her. "That was nice work!"  
  
She, too, yanked her helmet off her sweaty hair. "If you hadn't distracted me that much with your objections this wouldn't have happened!" she shouted back, probably knowing she was being unreasonable but banishing reason from her mind entirely right now. And that was only the beginning. Before I could say another word, she took a few quick strides in my direction and locked her outraged gaze with mine.  
  
"You should have done your job. You didn't. I took the initiative. And all you could do was try and dissuade me from saving our mission! Yeah, right, you really trust me, Harm, I can see that. Just why am I always so stupid to let you lure me into believing you again? Tell me, Harm, why?"  
  
I only stood there, listening to her tirades, dumbfounded. I was sure that later on she would see that her words didn't make any sense at all and that she probably didn't mean them the way they came out. But she had to be convinced that there was a grain of truth in her opinion, or where the devil would all that crap come from that she kept throwing at me? And the knowledge that this deeper issue seemed to exist, cut right through my heart. This had to be the result of being pushed away once too often, I realized with horror.  
  
Meanwhile, Mac was raging on. The plug had been pulled. She wouldn't stop now until all her doubts, her insecurities, all her hurt would have surfaced. I just listened, knowing that replying would have been of no use anyway.  
  
"It's always been that way, hasn't it?" she rhetorically, cynically asked me, pacing up and down in front of me like in a cross examination. "First you convince me that you trust me and then, when it comes to the test, you don't. Just like our relationship in general, don't you think? First you get me to believe that I'm somehow special to you and then, wham! You just drop me like a hot potato!"  
  
At this point, I couldn't help trying to cut her off. "Don't you think you're mixing things up here, Mac?" I shouted back but she only let out an exasperated laugh and shook her head as if in disbelief that I could be so dense. I shut up, resigned.  
  
"No, I don't," she retorted fiercely. "It's all related and part of the same problem! Think back, Harm: we were getting pretty close after our first adventure with 'Sarah' up in the mountains. You took me back to the hospital, you gave me the feeling that you really cared and then you got hooked up with Neurotic Annie instead. Not a single thought wasted on what I might be feeling! Then you came to me for help with your murder trial. I got you out of the mess and only shortly after you let me arrive at a wrong conclusion about who killed Diane when I was only trying to help! You deliberately lied to me that night to get me out of your car and I had to figure out for myself who was the real culprit you were after! But did I learn from that? No.  
  
"When you set off to find your father you didn't include me, you didn't even tell me what you were planning to do, after all that I'd helped you with on the USS Hornet. Still, I came after you to save you from yourself! After Russia I thought we were finally on the right road. But first your blond shrink turned up and then flying came before everything else. I tried to tell you what I was feeling when we said goodbye, but you cut me off with your damned 'I know'! I guess you were actually feeling guilty, weren't you? Because you knew how difficult it was for me to open up to anyone and yet you threw it away!  
  
"Then you returned but again pushed me away in Australia. Only to run to your video princess when you saw that I was considering marrying Mic. At my engagement party, you all but confessed to me that you loved me and still didn't act on it! When Mic left, you first told me to come to you and when I got up my courage and did it you said that right then, we couldn't talk! You came out all the way to the Guadal. Why? Obviously you were once again aiming at my trust. But you didn't even answer my question what you'd be willing to give up!  
  
"And then, the last time we got close, when we'd been at the exhibition with little AJ and you again backed away, I just knew it would never work. I could handle it quietly then because I thought I'd finally accepted that your declining was definite. And yet I let you sneak into my trust again on New Year's Eve and yesterday! The situation we were in last night should have gotten me suspicious to keep up my guard. I should have known that you would never trust me against your better judgment. But deep down I refused to believe that it was all just playacting on your part. Just how do you do that, Harm? I guess I was right about the bilge switch that I once compared you with, but obviously, I underestimated its abilities. 'Cause you're not only able to turn your friendship on and off as you like, but apparently also your conscience, so it won't get in the way!!!"  
  
With that last violent outburst, Mac fell silent and just kept glaring at me, panting. In the meantime my heart had turned to stone. Or ice. I don't know. I can't even explain how I was still able to reply reasonably when, inside me, every heartbeat hurt and my soul was screaming for justice.  
  
I slowly took a deep breath and tried to steady my voice. "I've known all day that something was troubling you," I said as quietly and distantly as I could. "You probably had doubts about what consequences last night's conversation would have. I wanted to talk to you about it but you'll agree that today's events didn't offer me the opportunity. I'm convinced that your irrational rage was built up easily on that basis by all that happened and I'm grieved to hear about your true opinion of my character."  
  
She took a breath and prepared to say something but I lifted up my hand. "Let me just finish, okay?" I said quietly. Oddly enough, she complied. I went on just as slowly as before, seemingly calm and composed. Making it sound like unemotional reasoning was my only hope of keeping my countenance.  
  
"I'll admit that I didn't always act correctly when it came to us but I'd like to say one thing: you may not believe me now, and apparently you never really did, but your trust is dearer to me than my life, and I, on my part, have always trusted you blindly. You know as well as I do that for every situation you named, there's an explanation for my behavior. And it certainly isn't my wanting to violate your trust. That is all I have to say. Let's repair the car." Without looking at her any more, I turned and retrieved the tools and the spare axle from the trunk and started working.  
  
It took me three hours to replace the part. But eventually we made it back on track and arrived at tonight's bivouac with a delay of three hours. We were lucky that many others had similar problems, so we weren't excluded from the race. But Gunny and Webb know that they must step in for us tomorrow when it comes to observing our suspect. We're too far behind right now to be able to get near him, should he try anything.  
  
Dad, this time Mac owes me an apology. Her words hurt badly and I'm saddened to see that my unlucky choices of behavior, in combination with her deeply vulnerable disposition, could lead to a history of misunderstandings and misjudgments as this. I guess I deeply underestimated just how much her parents emotionally destroyed her. For Mac, unconditional trust doesn't even exist.  
  
I'll try to shut off Harm completely now. Doug may be able to continue the race. Harm isn't.  
  
I wish you could just take me in your arms and tell me that everything's gonna be okay, like when I was three years old and Jerry Jones from next door made me cry.  
  
Harm  
  
Jan. 6th Waw al Kebir Libya  
  
Dad,  
  
I'm sorry but yesterday I didn't have the nerve to write. There wouldn't have been much to tell anyway. Yesterday's stage from Khofra to Waha went well, at least technically. The stage was 647 km long, with special track sections of 610 km. The first 120 km were a little tough as we had to cross quite a few dunes and I had to find the passes by using the GPS. But then we could just roll, roll, roll. Mac went so fast that we closed in on Gunny and Webb and could actually take over our watch after about two thirds of the distance.  
  
So far, so good. On the other hand I have to relate that, yesterday, I witnessed the desert freeze. Mac and I were icily professional. No word, no smile, no glances. Focus on the mission. That was what we did. I did get the impression, though, that somehow her conscience was stirring more than she would ever admit. She didn't apologize the whole day, and I was determined not to let her off the hook, but today I found out that I had been right in my suspicion.  
  
Before I go into detail: yes, we did make up. I'm not quite sure where exactly we stand right now, but at least the trust issue seems to be out of the way. I think she finally understood how much she means to me. But isn't it scary that, even after we laid the cards on the table during our fight, it took her two days and more than 1000 km to see it? And more, still, because it was a life-threatening situation that finally brought it about.  
  
Mac and I unintentionally came to be the center of all attention today. By 'true heroism', as the media immediately put it. By helping somebody, as we see it for ourselves. Whatever. Here are the facts:  
  
We started at 0545 from the gas station at Waha, knowing that of today's 661 km, all but 4 would be special track. It was a generally fast stage, only very few dune crossings. Instead, we got smashing views of the "Black Mountains", dark stone contrasting sharply with the bright colors of the dune sand. It was gorgeous, and I actually got to see some of it because my navigation duties, while never allowing me a dull moment, were still far easier to handle than on our nightmare stage of two days ago.  
  
The organizers obviously wanted to spoil us with today's route for they put one of our control points right into the crater of an ancient volcano. Up there we would be able to get out and admire the sight over the desert from the oasis that's situated there. It would have been paradise if Mac and I hadn't encountered hell on the way up.  
  
We still didn't exchange any words except the most necessary ones but it's amazing just how much you can adapt to a situation if you're required to. We gave nothing less than our 100 percent. We had caught up with quite a lot of competing teams when we reached the ascent to the volcano.  
  
The road was getting very difficult to handle, steep and narrow, pieces of rock breaking away and falling down everywhere we went. I saw the strain on Mac's face and would have let her see my compassion for what she had to go through and my admiration for how she was handling it, but still she hadn't apologized. And I'm still a man of principle. So I kept quiet and tried helping her best as I could by supplying her with detailed navigation instructions. Suddenly, I heard her suck in her breath and her determination not to talk to me seemed forgotten.  
  
"Harm! Look!" Not daring to take her hands off the wheel, she motioned for me to look ahead by decidedly lifting her chin. The shocked tone in her voice immediately made me follow her glance. And I froze in horror.  
  
Approximately 300 yards ahead of us, a motorbike lay crushed on the path. As the road made a concave curve around the mountain just there, we could see that its rider was hanging from a small rock shelf about 20 yards below. The mountain face was rising vertically. If the man lost his grip, he'd fall at least 150 yards.  
  
"Oh God..." I tonelessly croaked out, terrified. Clearing my throat, I then pushed away my emotions and tried to think. The accident must have occurred just a moment before as I didn't yet see the rescue helo or any other teams around. I knew that the control point was located at the far side of the mountain. It was likely that we didn't have the time to wait for the helicopter to arrive. I made a decision.  
  
"Pull over!"  
  
Mac instantly did. I quickly informed the control point and was already out of the car. I ran to the edge and saw the man hanging below me, looking up at me with the eyes of someone who knew that he was literally one step from the grave.  
  
"Au secours!" he shouted, "'Elp!" I recognized the French competitor Henri Monnet.  
  
"Hang on!" I shouted back. "We'll get you out of this!"  
  
Running back to our car, I started to pull the slim but strong cable off the winch that's attached at the front of our car in case we need to drag ourselves out of some thicket or something like that. Then I again rushed over to the edge and carefully let the cable slide down to Monnet while Mac continued to unroll it until it was off the winch in full.  
  
I saw Monnet's eyes grow wide with new horror when we realized that the cable wasn't long enough. Approximately three yards were lacking but we couldn't risk getting the car nearer to the edge. We reversed the winch and pulled the cable up again.  
  
"Mac," I yelled, "Go get the spare safety belt from the trunk!"  
  
She did so and threw it to me. I attached it to the snap link, knowing that it would be strong enough to hold Monnet's weight. Then we again unrolled the cable... nothing. I saw Mac look at me and shook my head. We knew we had but one option.  
  
Again we pulled up the cable. Looking at the safety belt in my hands I quickly pondered the odds. Just strapping in and getting down wouldn't cover the distance. I had to do it the hard way. Resigning, I sat down on the edge and attached the belt around both my ankles. Then I carefully let myself slide over the edge until I hung upside down.  
  
Mac waited for my call, then started the winch again and slowly hauled me down until the cable was unrolled. "Can you reach him?" she called, the tone of her voice telling me that she was dreading the answer.  
  
"Negative!" I shouted back, trying to ignore the abyss I kept staring at.  
  
"Hang on!" she replied. When I felt the cable starting to swing violently, I looked up and saw her slowly slide down to me. The movements of the cable nearly made me lose my senses. I briefly squeezed my eyes shut and tried to will down the sudden urge to throw up.  
  
"Mon Dieu!" I heard Monnet scream in panic. Daring to open my eyes again, I saw that a piece of rock that his left hand had been holding on to, had just broken off and was tumbling down.  
  
"We'll be right with you!" I shouted, realizing how shallow my words sounded.  
  
Shortly after, Mac had joined me and, giving me a quick encouraging glance, climbed down past my body until I could firmly encircle her thighs with my arms. Despite the neoprene upholstering, the safety belt began to cut cruelly and I began to lose the feel of my feet. Gritting my teeth, I held on to Mac.  
  
Luckily, she was now hanging upside down face to face with Monnet, securing one of his wrists with her hand while he reached for her waist. Then she pulled him up and both wrapped their arms around each other's chest. I doubt that Monnet was aware that he was actually burying his nose between Mac's breasts. And I also doubt that she cared right then. All I could think of were my ankles that hurt like hell with triple human weight tearing at the belt stronger than ever.  
  
"What now?" came Mac's somewhat muffled voice from below me.  
  
"We wait," I answered simply, desperately fighting the pain that threatened to overwhelm me. But both Mac and Monnet's lives depended on my staying conscious a little longer.  
  
Dad, when I was down in the cold water after my plane crash, the sound of the chopper that finally located me was like heavenly music to my ears. I'd always doubted that I'd ever feel that way again. Today I did, believe me.  
  
"Hang in there, just a little longer!" Was that really Tiner's voice? I felt I was getting dizzier all the time but once again forced myself to tighten my grip at Mac's legs and looked up. My flash of anger at seeing the cameraman right beside our rescuers came and passed in an instant. I had more urgent issues to concentrate on.  
  
Tiner had taken his cover as 'everyone's good boy' very seriously and had managed to convince the organizers that he'd already worked with helicopters (although he claimed they were medical ones, not Navy choppers, of course). So now we could rely on his military training and were amazed to see how our 'lord of the files' got into the rescue device, directed the helo over to us and pulled both Mac and Monnet in. As soon as they had been pulled up, he came back for me, sustained my weight so I could finally loosen the belt and let myself drop down in the basket. At once, the blood painfully returned to my feet, making me wince, but when I reached the chopper my feet were already feeling close to normal again.  
  
Only then did it dawn on me what exactly we'd just done. I looked at Mac and saw her frighteningly pale but composed features. I gave her an exhausted smile and immediately her expression relaxed as she returned it, her relief evident.  
  
Monnet shook himself from his shock and, still visibly shaking, looked over to where Mac and I were seated. "Thank you," he said, simply but sincerely.  
  
"You're welcome," Mac replied quietly, reaching over to shake his hand. Monnet continued to look at us uneasily, obviously wanting to add something. Mac gave him an encouraging nod.  
  
"You are a great team," Monnet said, a hint of admiration tingeing his voice. "What's your secret?"  
  
I was clueless how to reply but Mac's answer caught me completely off- guard. Casting me the slightest of apologetic smiles, one that was barely perceptible to anyone else but, to me, shone with pure sincerity and the honest plea for my forgiveness, she took my hand and squeezed it.  
  
"It's all a matter of trust," she answered Monnet's question. Tiner quickly tried to hide his surprise.  
  
Theoretically, we'd have been excluded from the race after accepting the help of the rescue helo. But no one kicks out the heroes of the day. So, while we were waiting at the control point, Tiner and Bensen went to retrieve our car so we'd be able to continue the stage.  
  
We had hoped for a few moments of relaxation to get the adrenaline out of our systems but, of course, as soon as we got off the helo, half a dozen TV teams encircled us and wanted the whole story. Mac and I exchanged yet another quick squeeze of hands and prepared to face the world.  
  
A zealous young redhead with extremely short pants and hiking boots managed to address us first. "Miss Kellerman, Mr. Vandenberg! What you did was extraordinary! How do you feel?"  
  
A microphone nearly poked me in the eye. I drew back a little, trying not to let my annoyance show.  
  
"Tired," I said.  
  
"Yeah," Mac agreed.  
  
The redhead obviously wasn't too content with our eloquence but already a meager young man with thick sunglasses pushed her away and positioned his mike in front of Mac. 'If, in Mac's eyes, I'm a stickboy, what's he then?' I thought distractedly.  
  
"Deb," he shouted, not caring that he didn't know Mac at all, "What does it feel like to be a hero?"  
  
Mac expertly hid her frown. "I'm glad we could help," she replied with a weary smile.  
  
"Doug," a blonde woman of the Renée-ish type then addressed me, trying a look that she maybe thought was sexy. "Have you ever saved a person's life before?"  
  
Drat those journalists. Were they ever trained on interviewing decently? I resolved to give her something to chew. "Yeah, several, at work," I said, keeping my features kind of disinterested.  
  
"Wow! What's your job?" Now, the blonde had a decided journalist-snooping- for-sensation look on her face. I don't like those people at all, Dad, but I fear I don't get a vote.  
  
"I'm a lawyer," I calmly replied. Next to me, Mac was seized by a sudden attack of coughing.  
  
I could clearly see that the woman had expected anything but that. Her expression told me that the paper-shuffling Armani-suit guy didn't fit into the image that she'd gotten of me so far. Just to say something so that no one could take over the interview while she was reorganizing her thoughts, she turned to Mac.  
  
"Oh... well, who'd have guessed? Uhm... Deb, what do you do then?" She gave a high-pitched, uneasy laugh. "Emergency medic driver? Or a National Park ranger, maybe?"  
  
"No. I'm a lawyer, like Doug." This time it was me who had to turn away and sneeze at seeing her poker face.  
  
"Uh... ahm... er... working for the same firm?" The reporter's smile had turned very strained by now.  
  
I suppressed a chuckle. 'You could say that,' I thought.  
  
"Yup," Mac acknowledged with an all-too-sweet smile.  
  
"Good Lord," the blonde gave another uneasy laugh, "Must be one hell of a firm then. Uh... what kind of cases are you specialized in?" By now, the other TV teams were just filming, making no attempt at introducing any other topics.  
  
Mac and I exchanged a quick look. This was getting into dangerous territory. We needed to find a way out of this line of questioning, the sooner the better. Yet, for now I still had a safe comeback. Giving the woman a brilliant smile, I said: "We normally represent greenies or blue people in whatever matters they turn to us with."  
  
Again there was a sudden violent fit of coughing, this time coming from Tiner who, in time, had pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, big enough to hide all of his face. While the reporters apparently tried to understand the sense of my answer, help was nearing from an unexpected side.  
  
"Ladies, Gentlemen, excuse me, please." Harriet squeezed herself between the cameras until she came to stand in front of us. "Miss Kellerman, Mr. Vandenberg, may I remind you that you agreed not to give away any details about your private lives before the exclusive interview that your team agreed upon with ZBS?"  
  
The ZBS reporter who happened to stand just beside her, turned his head in utter surprise and inhaled as if to say something. Harriet, by "pure accident", decidedly stepped on his foot and shot him a quick stare that would have made the admiral proud. The reporter winced and immediately shut his mouth, taken aback. Harriet can be very perceptive of situations that need action, Dad. You know it's due to this ability of hers that I came by this very booklet.  
  
Anyway, we were very grateful to her for showing us a way out. "Of course," Mac instantly agreed. "Uh..." she ventured, "When's the appointment?"  
  
Harriet didn't even blink. "Tonight, 9.30 p.m. I'll let you know about the location."  
  
We acknowledged, sensing that Harriet had something in mind. I cast the TV teams an apologetic smile. "If you'll excuse us..." With that I put my hand on the small of Mac's back and guided her away from the crowd.  
  
I was determined to seize the day. I knew I had to clarify where we stood, the tension was killing me. We wandered over to the other side of the crater and settled down to admire the incredible view that opened before us, both being silent for quite some time. I was still determined to wait for Mac to start the conversation. She owed me that much.  
  
Eventually she did. "I meant it," she began.  
  
Start with something neutral and have your vis-à-vis get to the crucial points. I know that strategy very well, believe me. But today it wouldn't work for her.  
  
"What?" I only asked, not looking at her.  
  
"What I said about it being a matter of trust." Her voice was firm but I could tell that her mind wasn't.  
  
"Should I trust you then?" I quietly replied. "What tells me that you don't think I'll let you down again whenever it's convenient for me to do so?"  
  
"I... I didn't mean it that way." It was obvious that she herself didn't really know just how she'd meant it. Nevertheless, I wanted her to elaborate. We've already had too many miscommunications, we need to get the words out, right? At least that's the way I feel. And that's what scares me about the situation. I've never been one of the straightforward kind when it comes to my feelings. Why now? No idea.  
  
"Then how did you mean it?" I asked.  
  
"I..." she broke off, shrugging helplessly. I turned my head to face her, meeting her glance. I think she understood that I wanted the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth. Sighing, she let her eyes wander out over the desert again.  
  
"Okay," she admitted, "I meant it. God, Harm, don't you see what kind of impression your behavior makes with those who can't see whatever is inside that thick head of yours?"  
  
"I have my reasons, Mac, and believe me, it's for the better." Did you ever give Mom such a lame answer to one of her important questions, Dad? Yet, I didn't know what else to reply.  
  
"It's for the better to hurt me over and over again by first getting my hopes up and then letting me down?" she asked just as quietly as I'd answered before.  
  
It hurt having my actions interpreted in such a way. "Would you stop putting it that way, please, Mac?" I said in a low, pained voice.  
  
She let out another exasperated sigh. "How should I put it then?"  
  
"I wouldn't really know, Mac. I just want you to understand that I'd never ever do anything to intentionally hurt you. That trust you were speaking of - I'd like to know that at least it included this point, if you can't go as far and trust me as unconditionally as I do you."  
  
For a minute she seemed to contemplate what I had said. Then she drew a deep breath and took the decisive step that's always so difficult for her.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
I waited.  
  
"I'm sorry about what I said two days ago. You were doing your job and I was just acting foolishly. I never doubted your sincerity about trusting me. It's just... the tension was tearing at my nerves, Harm. I was waiting for so much as a sign that our conversation from the night before was still valid. My frustration about the fact that we couldn't talk about it must have gotten the better of me."  
  
"It did." I was still reluctant to let her off the hook although I knew that prolonging the process wasn't exactly beneficial.  
  
"And I was mean to accuse you of willfully deceiving me. Although you did just that the night you told me about Diane." Her voice had taken up a slightly accusing edge.  
  
"All I wanted was to protect you, Mac. I didn't want you to get involved in the crime that I was about to commit."  
  
"And I wanted to save you from yourself."  
  
"I know. You did."  
  
Again we fell silent. I could almost feel how the wheels in her head kept turning and turning until she spoke up again.  
  
"Okay, let's leave that night aside," she resolved, as if speaking to herself rather than to me. Then she looked up at me. "It was wrong of me to claim that you hadn't been sincere the night before. I knew it all along, and yet I did it. I just lost it. I'm really sorry about that. I said a few very ugly things to you. They were totally uncalled for and I... I apologize."  
  
"Apology accepted," I simply stated, giving her a slight smile and feeling her relax with relief. Then I sobered. "I know you put your life in my hands earlier without thinking twice, Mac," I said earnestly. "In spite of the situation, it felt incredibly good to see just to what extent you were relying on me. But when it comes to trusting me in personal matters... Mac, did you ever fully believe me when I said that I'd be there for you, no matter what?"  
  
She inhaled deeply and let the air stream out very slowly. "As a friend, yes. But by now you should have gathered that I'd wish for more than that. And on this higher level of intimacy - " she faced me with a pained expression, "No, Harm. I could never fully trust you with my heart. At first because it takes me a long time to get to know a person well enough to open up. When I finally felt I had gotten there, after our unlucky tour with 'Sarah', you eventually got involved with Annie. Then all the other things that I mentioned happened. And as much as I wanted to believe you: you yourself prove my suspicions right every time I got my courage up to overcome them."  
  
Dad, it was terrible to see how she'd perceived my actions, but on the other hand I'm grateful to finally understand her reactions a little better. I felt it was my turn now. "I'm so sorry, Mac," I said in a low voice.  
  
"So am I," came her resigned answer.  
  
Pictures of a sunny autumn day came to my mind, with me and Mac standing under a tree, recovering from the ten-mile run that we'd just completed. Going back to the beginning had seemed so easy back then. Now I just get the impression that we're moving in circles.  
  
"So where does that leave us?" I turned the question back to her that she'd asked me back then.  
  
"At a point where you know exactly where I stand," she replied, looking intently at me. "Now it's up to you to decide if you want to let me in and tell me what's driving you to react the way you do whenever I threaten to get too close."  
  
I already knew the answer to that one. "I do want you to know why I behaved the way I did and I'm working on letting you in," I said very low. "I can accept that, for the time being, the trust issue is a one-way street. As long as you tell me that you believe me if I say that I trust you unconditionally."  
  
For the first time in days, she gave me a real smile. It felt like the sun breaking through the clouds after a particularly heavy thunderstorm. "I believe you," she said simply.  
  
I put my arm around her shoulders and we looked out at the desert again. Any more words would have been superfluous.  
  
Shortly after, Tiner and Bensen arrived with our car and the official permission to continue the race. A doctor quickly looked us over and when he didn't find any real injuries besides a few cuts and bruises and the red marks that the belt had left around my ankles, he gave us a "go". Five minutes later, Mac and I were on the road again.  
  
When we arrived we were rather exhausted, physically as well as emotionally but we still had to do the interview that Harriet had arranged. This time we were prepared as we had thought about a few details of Deb and Doug's private lives. The reporter was keen on discovering if we had any kind of personal relationship going on. Somehow we managed to evade the topic until he gave up, his frustration evident. As soon as the reporter had left, Harriet, Tiner, Gunny and Webb joined us.  
  
How did you react whenever you were out on a mission but didn't get a hint that anything would happen? I despise this feeling of hanging and waiting for the other to make the first move. As a pilot, you'll understand me when I tell you that I'm the one to attack rather than react, Dad. Well, it seems that in this operation, we won't get that chance.  
  
Tiner managed to befriend Dunfoss' maintenance buddy and was able to take a closer look at his car. He didn't find the slightest hint as to where the grenades might be hidden. Webb is slowly losing his mind, I guess. In two days, we'll be leaving Libya and will drive into the state of Niger. So Dunfoss is due to act tomorrow or the day after. If he doesn't, we have a problem.  
  
Mac just reminded me that we'll be on watch duty tomorrow. So I think I'd better get going now and get some sleep. Let's just hope, the armistice holds this time, Dad. I'm afraid to think in what way I might break it.  
  
Talk to you soon! Harm  
  
Jan. 7th Sabha, Libya  
  
Dear Dad,  
  
Another hard day's over and you won't believe it: I had fun. We had fun. Big time. No, I mean it. And for me, it kind of paid off. Right now, I'm lying flat on my belly, comfortably wrapped in my sleeping bag, writing to you. And right before me is a little wooden brick stone. The third one.  
  
I'd just taken my cherished shower in Bensen's camper. (He's got a flow heater, you know. I wouldn't have guessed but the evening chill creeps up so quickly once the sun is gone that you actually need one.) When I joined Mac in our tent, she smiled, seeing me rummage through my bag for this booklet.  
  
"'Dear Diary' time again?" she softly teased.  
  
I just grinned. "Dear Dad," I corrected her.  
  
She cocked her head with the sweetest smile. "Awww..."  
  
I grunted good-naturedly, shaking my head.  
  
Sobering a little, Mac looked at me for a second. "Say hello for me, will you?" This time, there was no teasing undertone detectible in her voice. I felt my smile broaden.  
  
"I will."  
  
She quickly leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek. "Good night, Harm."  
  
I'm just glad it's rather dark in here 'cause I guess I was blushing. "Good night, Mac. Sleep tight."  
  
"You too." Casting me another quick smile, she turned to lie on her other side so my flashlight wouldn't bother her.  
  
It was only then that I noticed the little pack on my pillow. I carefully removed the handkerchief she had wrapped the brick in and a small sheet of paper fell out. It read:  
  
Harm,  
  
Today was great. Much better than just finishing each other's sentences. To me, it felt like we were thinking in phase.  
  
I won't give you this personally because I'm afraid that whatever conversation might follow might lead to the same results as the last. So, right now, I think it's safer this way, although I'll dreadfully miss the goodnight kiss, but hey... you can't get everything you want, right?  
  
Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that today, we gave Gunny and Webb a demo lesson on teamwork and I'm damned proud of the result. Thank you so much, Harm. I had a fantastic time.  
  
Good night, sailor! Mac  
  
Touched, I hesitated only for the briefest moment. "Mac?"  
  
She didn't move but the tone of her voice told me that she was still wide- awake. "Yeah?"  
  
"Turn around," I suggested softly.  
  
"Why?" Her voice was a little wary.  
  
"Because," I said with a slight smile.  
  
With a barely audible chuckle, she turned her head in my direction, her features serene but her eyes silently begging me to respect her wish not to talk about it. I complied.  
  
"You can get whatever you want," I just told her in a low voice, still smiling. Without waiting for her reaction, I brought my lips to hers and let them linger for a second or two. When I drew back, she smiled slightly, holding my glance.  
  
"Good night again," I whispered, reaching out with my hand and gently brushing a little sand out of the hair over her forehead.  
  
Her smile deepened. "Good night," she whispered back before turning her head.  
  
It's so wonderful that somehow, we got back to being this easy with one another. Maybe we just improved our understanding of how the other's mind works.  
  
So, I promised Mac that I'd say hello to you for her: Dad, Mac says hello. (I know you can see me grinning, wherever you are.) Now I bet you want details about what happened earlier, right? Okay, I'll tell you.  
  
Actually, Dunfoss started it. Mac and I were his bodyguards today and as soon as we were off, we noticed from my GPS readouts that he was obviously going for today's stage victory. We had to cover 469 km with only 146 km of special track. The whole course was extremely twisty and bumpy as we were passing from dune valley to dune valley. We were mostly going off-track, crossing the 100 km long Erg de Timsah with its 40-yard dunes. The stage was incredibly fast and Mac did miracles with her driving. My nausea returned a little but my chewing-gum stock is still well equipped so I could hold it in check.  
  
When Mac and I had been driving for about 15 minutes, the comm-link cracked.  
  
"Doug, do you copy?" Clay was speaking fast and seemed agitated. 'Not again,' I thought.  
  
"Loud and clear, Carl," I answered warily.  
  
"Listen, our target is going so fast today that I'm sure he'll try something. You must follow him at any cost, do you understand? Try to get as close as you can, we'll do the same. Over."  
  
"Got it," I acknowledged, "Over and out." Then I turned to Mac. "Seems we get lucky today, Mac," I said lightly. "Go as fast as you can."  
  
"You sure?" Mac asked me with an almost mischievous smile. After yesterday's clearing tempest, she'd been very much at ease all morning. I still didn't completely trust the situation but I admit that it felt really good for a change.  
  
"Positive," I answered.  
  
"Okay..." she said with a grin, the slightest nasty edge in her voice. Then she stepped on the accelerator. Immediately, the sudden acceleration pressed me into my seat. I gasped.  
  
"Catapult feeling?" she only commented.  
  
"Yeah, kind of..." I murmured, chuckling and again concentrating on my readouts.  
  
"Doug?" Clay's voice again.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You know Al Brady, the ZBS boy, right?"  
  
"Sure, he helped to pull us on board the helicopter." Frowning, I waited for Clay to elaborate why he had brought up Tiner.  
  
"He... uhm..." Clay seemed to think too hard about what he was going to say. 'Okay, let's play 'crack the code',' I silently resolved. Theoretically, our comm-link was safe but in real life, nothing turns out as it does in theory as I've painfully noticed a few times. Hence the use of our cover names. Clay tried again. "I had Al bring your lunch boxes to your car today. And I told him to pack a second green pepper sandwich." I noticed that Clay had slightly stressed the last words. Frowning deeper, I listened on. "We have a second green pepper sandwich, too," Clay explained after a moment. So we can eat together, sort of. Over and out."  
  
Green pepper sandwich? Green pep... Suddenly I burst out laughing. Mac shot me a quizzical look. Putting my finger to my lips, I reached for the lunch box and opened it. In it lay a little black GPS transmitter, already processing data. 'Green Pepper Sandwich,' I thought, shaking my head as I copied the data on the map. I instantly understood that Clay had somehow managed to provide each of our teams with the means to locate the other. I showed the device to Mac and she immediately nodded understanding.  
  
Don't think life became any easier for me now, Dad. My tracking workload had just doubled but it's reassuring to be able to know beforehand where our reinforcements will arrive from, should we ever need them.  
  
I started plotting their course in one-minute intervals. "Mac," I called.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"They're closing in on us." Somehow the fact bothered me. Mac was doing so great. Why was the Gunny still faster?  
  
I rather heard than saw her frown. "Just you wait..." she murmured and once again forcefully stepped on the accelerator.  
  
Ten minutes later, they drove past us, smirking. "Sons of a..." I murmured.  
  
After a few moments, Clay spoke up again, his smirk clearly audible. "Distance about 500 yards and growing..."  
  
I immediately checked the latest readouts. Dunfoss was speeding as if his life depended on it. Well, maybe Al Qaeda had reminded him that it actually did? But strangely, he didn't make the slightest effort to get away from the track. He seemed determined to win and nothing else. Much as that preoccupied us, the situation enabled us to concentrate on the given course. Which was what we did.  
  
"Damn, they're really fast!" I called in Mac's direction.  
  
"Look for any possible shortcuts in the off-track sections!" I had to grin at the determination in her voice. 'Okay, we're in for a personal race today.'  
  
"Aye, ma'am," I acknowledged. Then I buried myself in my work once again.  
  
All of a sudden, I had an idea. "Mac, if we turn to 225 degrees now, there should be a possibility to avoid at least two minor dune valleys. They'd only slow us down. The new route is a little longer but we should be able to move faster."  
  
"Got it!" The moment the words were out, she saw the small opening in the dunes and steered us right through it. "Details?" she called in my direction.  
  
I had tasted blood and felt the adrenaline stir up my system. "In about 500 yards turn to 278 degrees," I told her. She looked, calculated, waited and turned.  
  
"To avoid the too steep descent: back to 260 in 120 yards!"  
  
Mac did just that. I looked at the GPS readouts. Gunny and Webb were still ahead but the distance had stabilized at about 2000 yards. "Distance still 2000 yards," I told Clay.  
  
"I know. Keep trying." Dad, I honestly didn't like that gloating sound in his voice.  
  
"Mac," I tried something else that I'd just discovered. "In about 260 yards turn to 310 and go..."  
  
"...already uphill to avoid the steep ascent to the next dune pass." She had spotted the point that I had discovered on my map and did what I told her. I measured again.  
  
"Distance approximately 1750 yards and closing in," I told Clay, satisfaction ringing in my voice. My next data told me, though, that they seemed to be following a shortcut, too.  
  
"Distance 1930 yards and increasing." Clay was enjoying himself way too much.  
  
I looked at Mac: "Can we go across one of the higher situated valleys?"  
  
Simultaneously, she said: "Let's go across one of the higher situated valleys."  
  
We blinked and shared a short laugh, then I sobered. "Isn't the sand too deep?"  
  
Mac shrugged merrily. "Not if we're lucky."  
  
"Great..."  
  
Dad, I know that what we did was rather foolish because we could easily have gotten stuck for good up there. But I suddenly realized that for once, we might be able to get a little payback for all that Webb made us endure, and be it only by beating him and Gunny today. He has his pride, you know... Anyway, I decided it was a risk worth taking.  
  
"Mac, turn to 305 degrees in..."  
  
"...about 200 yards. I see the route."  
  
"Good."  
  
We turned and moved up the dune until, about halfway up, a pass opened before us.  
  
"Get..." I started.  
  
"...in there!" Mac took up and pulled around the wheel.  
  
"Hey, stop finishing my sentences!" I shot her a grin, knowing well that she remembered the time when I'd first said this to her.  
  
"You know what I was gonna say," she said instead of replying directly, grinning back at me. I again checked the GPS data and a grin spread over my face.  
  
"Distance about 950 yards and closing in," I announced pompously over the comm-link, enjoying the low swearing that was my answer.  
  
Dad, the whole stage went on like that. Gunny and Webb managed to increase the distance a few times, but Mac and I were merciless! Dunfoss kind of pushed all of us - we nearly couldn't believe our ears when, at the second control point, Bensen told us that for today's stage ranking, Mac and I were currently ranked 21st and Gunny and Webb ranked 20th.  
  
I think I finally figured out how you can pull useful details out of an ordinary road map. As soon as one of my ideas had been carried out, the next one followed. It's really all on the map, you just have to know how to read between the roads, so to say. I'm glad about my progress. Tomorrow's stage will once again be hell for the navigators and maybe this time, we'll stand a chance not to lose our friend, although it's not us who're in for watching him tomorrow.  
  
After the last control point, racing fever once again got the better of us. The rest of the stage track was downhill and fast and the rush felt great.  
  
Webb and Gunny had taken a wrong turn once and although it hadn't been too much of a problem to go on, we could sense they were nervous and they had now ended up following a more difficult route in order to reach the bivouac. What substantially added to Clay's state of mind was the frustration and worry that he felt because Dunfoss still hasn't acted on whatever he's planning. And tomorrow we'll leave Libya.  
  
We spotted Gunny and Clay when they were just trying to regain full speed after a particularly tricky descent that they'd had to make in order to reach the original route from where they were. Mac and I were still rolling on high speed.  
  
I waited and counted down... 200 yards, 150, 100, 80, 60, 40, 15... then I switched on the comm-link. "Distance zero and increasing," I merrily called over to a very frustrated Clay, just as we roared past them at their starboard side.  
  
Mac quickly held up her hand, laughing. I gave her five, joining in her laughter. Two minutes later, we passed the finish line, Clay and Gunny a full 300 yards behind us.  
  
Mac let the car roll until it eventually came to a halt. Letting out a deep relieved breath, she faced me with a smile. "That was fun!"  
  
I chuckled, suddenly remembering yesterday's interview. "One hell of a law firm, indeed."  
  
Mac just looked at me. "No," she said quietly. "One hell of a team."  
  
You already know what followed. Dad, I hope I'm not too early in declaring it but I think this time, Mac and I are finally getting it right. Knock on wood.  
  
Harm  
  
To be continued... 


	3. Chapter Three

'Teamwork' - Part Three Author: Daenar Disclaimer: See Part One  
[Excerpts from Harm's diary]  
  
Jan. 8th Dirkon, Niger  
  
Dad,  
  
I hate sand. Right now I'm covered with it from head to toe. It's in my shoes, in my socks, inside my driver's suit, under my t-shirt, in my... no, I won't go there. It's in my hair, in my ears, in my nostrils, between my teeth. You have to give me credit - I'm a real gentleman. I let Mac take a shower first. And since I know that I won't have the energy to take a pen in my hand once I'll be all cleaned up and relaxed, I'm writing these lines now while Mac's getting cleaned up herself. Besides, my head hurts quite a bit, and after my shower, all I want is an aspirin and a good-night's sleep.  
  
I loved reading "The One-Thousand-and-One Nights" (yes, Dad, all of it, not just the steamy stuff) so I'm familiar with the concept of getting caught in the middle of a sandstorm in the desert. But, as always, there's a major difference between imagining and experiencing it. Today was insufferable. And yet - I'm kind of lighthearted and content because the sandstorm gave me the opportunity to hold Mac close to me for quite some time as we were waiting it out. It wasn't really romantic. You know, romance doesn't come with the crunching sound of sand between your teeth every time you move your jaw. Still, it was special somehow and I wouldn't have missed it.  
  
Apart from our personal issues, we're all getting extremely worried about the mission by now. Today we crossed the border to Niger, and still Dunfoss doesn't seem to do anything than continue the race. Clay seems to have reconsidered his options - apparently Dunfoss' wife's family being Libyan hadn't had too much influence on his choice of meeting point.  
  
Last night, Clay and I met up with Tiner who took us to Dunfoss' car. His new buddy, you know, Dunfoss' maintenance clerk, seems to get drunk rather easily, so Tiner could procure us a little technical information about the vehicle and get us near it. While he kept his 'friend' occupied, Clay and I searched the car for any hints of the grenades. Nothing. When I carefully hinted to Webb that maybe the Agency had been wrong about the whole thing, he started to contradict me forcefully, claiming that their information had been very clear and that they had to be around somewhere.  
  
I asked him about the nature of the information, and after trying a few 'That's-classified!'s', he explained to me that they had sat photos of the grenades at Erhac, an informant's testimony that he'd seen Dunfoss' brother, you know, the Marine corporal, at night rummaging around between them, that the next morning, they'd been gone, that they had tracked them down to some car repair near the base and that there was evidence that Will Dunfoss had his car checked out there.  
  
While, as a lawyer, I'd say that this would be absolutely insufficient evidence for any kind of conviction, I have to concede that the chain of 'coincidences' is a little too strong not to become suspicious. So the Agency came up with our little hide-and-seek scenario. Still, something doesn't feel right about all this. Problem is: I can't put my finger on what it is, neither can Mac. But she seconds my uneasiness. We'll have to wait and see.  
  
Today's stage would have been difficult enough if the weather had been favorable. The whole distance of 707 km counted as special track. It was a generally fast route, intermixed with twisty sections across rocky sand plateaus that were really hard to cross. We did a lot of skidding and Mac's arms must be all sore by now from yanking the wheel from one side to the other and back all the time.  
  
The skidding eventually did it for my delicate stomach. Even the chewing gum didn't help and I had to get out and be sick after about two thirds of the distance. Luckily we had a thermos with unsweetened peppermint tea with us that Bensen had supplied us with - maybe he expected something of the kind would happen on this stage. Anyway, besides the calming effect that the tea had on my stomach's nerves, I was really grateful to have something fresh to rinse my mouth with afterwards. Much as I despise that man for his attraction to Mac, I owe him now.  
  
Just as I was about to get back into the car, I cast a casual glance at the sky - and froze. From the southwest, an incredibly dark wall of clouds was nearing. I quickly turned around and found my dreadful suspicion confirmed: in the northeast, the sky was of a strangely pale ginger yellow. The rest of the sky in between the black and the yellow seemed to be covered with a peculiar milky-white mist up high in the stratosphere. All senses alert, I glanced at our surroundings and noticed that all wind had died down. No other teams were near. Deep silence reigned around us. Death silence. Unconsciously, I swallowed.  
  
"Uh... Mac?"  
  
"Yeah? You alright?"  
  
"Yeah... ah... could you check Gunny and Webb's position, please?"  
  
Mac must have heard the apprehension ringing in my voice because when she answered, hers was very sober and concerned. She got out and took off her helmet. "Harm, I'm afraid you made a navigation mistake earlier." Still she didn't notice the reason for my own preoccupation.  
  
"I had a suspicion," I confirmed. "How far off are we?"  
  
"Not much. I think it's that downhill section that we did that got us off- track. The other teams should still be up on the plateau somewhere." Only then did she see what I was frowningly staring at. She followed the direction of my eyes and spotted the black cloud layer that was, as I noted with sudden panic, approaching far too fast for my liking.  
  
"Oh sh..." she swore very low, eyes wide. "Any ideas?"  
  
"None, really... go as fast as we can?" I suggested, feeling helpless.  
  
"Bought." She put on her helmet and quickly climbed inside again. I immediately followed and we sped off.  
  
The tense silence subdued both our minds, I guess. This time, though, it wasn't some kind of silence that hung in between us. It surrounded both of us, closing in, threatening to choke us, as outside, the sunlight began to fade away and the first heavy gusts began to shake the car. Yet, odd as it seems, the knowledge that we were in this together, somehow eased my fears.  
  
I noticed that on Mac's head, just under the brim of her helmet, small beads of perspiration had begun to form. She was pressing her lips shut and speeding on, staring in front of her, slightly bowing forward as the visibility was more and more reduced by flying sand - as if her change of posture could procure her any better sight. But that's how the human psyche works.  
  
I looked down again and kept my eyes glued to the road book and my GPS, plotting a course back to the original route. As it turned out, we would have to go on down where we were for another 40 km roughly before there would be any possibility of trying an ascent to the plateau.  
  
When I next lifted my head, visibility was down to almost zero. Our car was rocking hard from the heavy side winds and the sand and little pebbles that hit us were making an ever-increasing noise that, together with the steady howling of the wind and the pale remainders of daylight, created a gruesome atmosphere.  
  
Mac was still holding up admirably. The sweat was beginning to trickle down her temples but she didn't wipe it away, keeping the wheel in a death grip to maintain control over our vehicle while she was trying to get closer to the mountain face that we were following. I reached for a Kleenex, softly touched her arm first so as not to startle her and then, seeing her smile briefly as she understood what I was about to do, gently dabbed the beads from her forehead.  
  
It was then that a sudden small avalanche of pebbles came down on us from the cliff above. We gasped, startled, and then... Dad, I don't recall exactly what happened but one of the bigger rocks must have broken my side window and hit me on the forehead, lucky as I am, just where the helmet ended. I felt a searing pain and everything went black.  
  
When I eventually regained consciousness, I realized that Mac had parked the car near the mountain face and was holding my face between her hands, having removed our helmets, her eyes overflowing with worry. With her left hand, she was pressing a folded tissue to my right eyebrow. And she was obviously talking to me in a soothing voice, although I didn't quite get what she was saying.  
  
I could see her relief once she noticed that I was back - and although my head was pounding like a jack hammer, I felt great being taken care of by her.  
  
"Thanks." I had found my voice and even managed a slight smile.  
  
"Anytime," she answered simply, handing me my water bottle. "How do you feel?" She had to almost shout as the wind kept howling. I noticed that she had half wrapped me in our anti-fire blanket to protect me against the sand that was blown into the car through the destroyed window.  
  
"Not too bad, thanks," I called back, "Just a little sandy."  
  
"There's a small outcrop in the mountain face, just big enough for two people to crouch in," she told me. "How about trying to wait it out there?"  
  
I looked at her dubiously, shading my eyes against any sand with my right hand. "You don't know how long this is gonna take."  
  
"Do we have an alternative?" she asked back. "Over there, we can protect ourselves more efficiently against the gusts and the sand. In the car it's of no use right now. My window's broken, too, and the wind comes right through without mercy."  
  
"I see your point. Let's get out of here." Slowly coming back to my senses, I took the water bottles and the blanket while Mac retrieved the radio, the medic case and what was left of our lunch box. Together, we made a beeline for the small cave and settled down inside, wrapping the blanket around us. The howling was actually a little lower and we were safe from the flying sand.  
  
Mac switched on the flashlight and examined my head. "Whoo, that's a nasty gash that you've got there," she murmured, wetting a gauze bandage with a little bottled water and gently cleaning my wound. I closed my eyes - Dad, even though it hurt, her movements felt like caresses. Right then I wouldn't have wanted her to stop.  
  
When she had applied a bandage to my brow, reassuring me that it was small and wouldn't get in the way of my helmet, I leaned back against the rock wall, made her sit in my lap and wrapped the blanket around both of us. She leaned into my embrace and let her head rest against my shoulder.  
  
After a while, she spoke up somewhat drowsily. "Harm?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Would you mind if I dozed off a little?"  
  
I chuckled. "Not at all."  
  
"Thanks. You're the best." She snuggled up a little closer and we fell silent. Yet it was again her to eventually break the silence.  
  
"Harm?"  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"I'm glad I didn't take the Brussels assignment."  
  
Her choice of topic caught me a little off-guard. I had completely forgotten about it. "Uh... yeah, me, too. Did you ever consider taking it?"  
  
To my surprise, I heard her acknowledge. "Yeah, I did. When I was out in Nevada, training for the rally, I had a lot of time to think things through. You know, doing the Dakar, I would have missed the deadline but the Secnav was so urgent in offering me the post that I'm sure I could have gotten it anyway if I'd resolved to go for it."  
  
"Would you have wanted it?" I don't think I really managed to sound as uninvolved as I had intended to. The possibility of Mac transferring to another continent outright scared me, even though I already knew that she had decided against it.  
  
"No, I don't think so." Her voice was a little too thoughtful for my liking but I decided not to allude to that right then. She went on. "I mean, it sure would have been a great opportunity, Harm. It would have been only me, practically, to do the main part of the negotiating with the Russian officials behind the scenes. And without my legal approval, no deals would have been cut. I really could have done something to make the world a little safer."  
  
Dreading the whole topic, I still forced myself to keep up the conversation. If this was what she wanted to talk to me about, then I'd be her sounding board. "Then why didn't you take the assignment in the first place?"  
  
I felt her breath caress my throat when she silently chuckled. "Can't you guess?" was all she answered.  
  
My heart turned a somersault and an incredible warmth began to well up inside me. I tightened my embrace, unable to stop smiling in the dark. "Thanks, Mac." My voice was suddenly somewhat hoarse and shaky.  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
Once more falling silent, we sat cuddled up for another two hours, feeling each other's heartbeat. Mac was absentmindedly running her hand up and down my chest, nearly driving me crazy and making me fight a sudden desire to lower her on her back and... Taking a deep breath that bore the sweet scent of her hair, I refrained from acting on my instincts. Having her this close to me and being allowed to hold her was all I truly needed right then.  
  
Eventually we became aware that the storm had quieted down. Mac checked on my wound and when she found that I was doing quite well, we quickly made our way back to our car and covered the remaining distance to bivouac without substantial problems - apart from the sand that continuously entered our drivers' cabin through the broken windows.  
  
Bensen, Gunny and Webb were anxiously awaiting us. We certainly weren't the last team to arrive as many others had encountered problems similar to ours. But we could still see their relief once we disembarked more or less unscathed. Bensen immediately went over to Mac, only to stop short when he apparently became aware of the somehow more intense aura of easy intimacy that surrounded Mac and me. He met my eye and knew. I have to give him credit for his decency - his glance reassured me that he'd never again try to win Mac's affection.  
  
Tomorrow, we'll be doing a 'Dakar Classic' as Jutta explained to us when we met her earlier today. Tomorrow's finish will be at Agades, the ancient caravan town where we'll get to spend our day off, which is the day after tomorrow. If Dunfoss doesn't get us into trouble, tomorrow should be fatiguing, yes, but routine driving by now. We'll see. Let's just hope our techs get our car fixed.  
  
There's Mac, back from the shower. It's my turn now, Dad, finally! I'll get back to you soon, I promise. Harm  
Jan. 10th Agades, Niger  
  
Dad!  
  
Two! Deux! Dos! Due! Dwa! Zwei! Yay!!! There's two little brick stones in my lap as I write to you! Yes, Dad, you heard me right: two!! That means... (drum roll) ...I'm up to five now!!! T minus two and counting!  
  
Sorry, I think I got a little carried away here but you'll have to concede that I'm entitled to feel great. Mac and I had a long talk today, "the" talk, I guess, it was. And although I'm still not daring to believe that we sailed all the rapids, I think that today was the closest that we ever got to starting something serious.  
  
After a totally uneventful yesterday's stage (just for the record: 644 km, 637 km of special track, across the Erg of Ténéré in a wide circle around the impressive Aïr mountains, flat rear tire all-inclusive), we had our well-deserved break today at the fairytale-like caravan town of Agades. Mac and I went sightseeing together and at some point we began to feel like being part of the fairytale ourselves.  
  
It already started with seeing Mac when she was ready to leave bivouac. She was dressed in white, from head to toe. Rules of society being conservative out here, she wore a wide, white cotton dress with a high collar and long sleeves. The skirt went down to a mere inch above the ground so no one noticed that the Nikes she wore underneath weren't exactly the traditional shoe wear that the original style would have required. Around her shoulders and head, she had loosely draped a broad, soft white cotton shawl, having made sure that she was allowed to leave her face uncovered. (They're not quite as strict in Niger as they are in Saudi Arabia.) Just below the brim of her makeshift hood, the slightest bit of her brown hair was visible, framing her face. Dad, she looked so lovely. I couldn't take my eyes off her.  
  
I felt a little out of place in my khaki slacks and long-sleeved white cotton shirt but I quickly forgot about my appearance as we were walking through the old quarters of the town. The houses were pastel-colored, the styles varying between white, beige, rosé and light blue. In the narrow streets there was no traffic besides a few donkey carts and an occasional camel walking by. And there were refreshingly few tourists to be seen. I guess, Agades is just too far from any African coast worth visiting. So what we got was genuine Maghreb, Muslim northern Africa.  
  
After making use of the opportunity to sleep in a little, Mac and I first visited the ancient mosque and strolled a little across the bazaar, always being careful to maintain a proper distance between us. Then we found a little teahouse where men and women weren't as severely banished to different corners as in some others. We settled down cross-legged at a low shady table in the courtyard and silently enjoyed our sugary tea.  
  
"Hello!" I suddenly heard someone greet us. We looked up and saw two young men walking over, waving a smiling greeting. I recognized the Turkish rally driver Erkan Celebi with his navigator, Taifun Kir.  
  
Returning their greetings, Mac and I invited them to join us for a cup of tea.  
  
"Enjoying your day off?" Celebi asked Mac.  
  
She smiled. "Yes, I am. Very much so," she added with a pathetic sigh that made us all laugh a little.  
  
Celebi nodded with a knowing grin. "So am I. My arms are still sore from two days ago."  
  
"Tell me about it," Mac agreed.  
  
"First time in 'de Dakar?" the Turkish driver wanted to know.  
  
"Yeah," I acknowledged. "We wanted to see if we could do it. We're more the office types back home."  
  
Again, Celebi grinned widely. "I know. 'De wild lawyers from Washington. We all saw your interview."  
  
Mac and I exchanged a mock frown. "We'll never live that one down, will we?" she asked with more than just a little irony in her voice.  
  
"No chance," Celebi laughed compassionately.  
  
"So, where are you from?" I was eager to change the subject.  
  
"I grew up near Erhac," he answered.  
  
This time, the look that passed between Mac and me was meaningful but went unnoticed by our company. "Do you still live there?" I casually inquired.  
  
"Yes, I do," Celebi answered in his open, friendly way. "Actually, it was quite convenient for 'de rally preparations. My bro'der works for a maintenance firm near 'de airbase."  
  
"What does he do?" Mac asked in the same tone that she'd have used to inquire after the flowers on his balcony.  
  
"More convenient still," Celebi answered, his wide grin audible. "He's a car mechanic."  
  
"Wow, you're lucky!" Mac exclaimed. "Then you surely got to know quite a few Dakar stars beforehand, right? That's so great!"  
  
Celebi seemed almost embarrassed. "Yes, I did. Some of 'dose who went from Turkey to Africa by ship had 'deir vehicles looked at in my bro'der's firm. I even got an autograph from Henri Monnet, 'de guy you saved."  
  
"Did you get to know Will Dunfoss, too?" Mac asked eagerly, acting like a fan who asked about her idol.  
  
"Yes, his bro'der works at 'de base. He's in 'de military and my bro'der's firm cooperates wid' 'dem."  
  
"Wow! Did you get to see his car? I bet he's got quite a few extra features that we don't know of!" Mac's playacting was hilarious. I had to fight to keep my expression in check.  
  
"Oh, I don't know about 'dat," Celebi answered with a smile. "You'd have to ask my bro'der back home. I only drive. Taifun does all 'de technical stuff on 'de rally course." His navigator acknowledged with a nod and a grin.  
  
Mac didn't even have to feign disappointment. Another lead on the grenades had just evaporated into nothing. "Pity," she said with an endearing pout.  
  
Celebi patted her on the shoulder. "I'll arrange for a meeting if you come again next year."  
  
"That would be great." Mac gave him a one-billion-watts smile in return that actually made the young man blush a little.  
  
"You're welcome." The Turkish team had finished their tea and rose. "Well, I guess, we'll see you around," Celebi greeted us, "Have a nice day."  
  
"You, too."  
  
"Damn," I murmured under my breath when they were gone.  
  
"I second that," Mac sighed. Then she turned to me with a threatening grin. "But don't you dare let that spoil our day off, do you hear me?"  
  
Chuckling, I made a gesture of surrender. "You're the boss."  
  
"Good to see you understood that." The corners of Mac's mouth were twitching.  
  
"Oh, shut up, Marine," I replied in mock exasperation, making her smile in full.  
  
Mac leaned back against the whitewashed wall, her eyes closed. She was savoring the relaxation after the strain and stress of the last days. I just sat and observed her, wanting nothing more than to preserve everything as it was right at that moment. I was happy.  
  
After a little while, Mac turned her head and found me looking at her, unable to keep the smile off my face.  
  
"What?" she said with a low, slightly embarrassed chuckle.  
  
"Nothing," I replied. "Just looking."  
  
For a moment, she looked down, smiling. Then she again met my eye. "See anything fascinating?" she asked in a low, amused voice.  
  
"Yeah," I just said.  
  
"What?" she inquired, curious.  
  
"You."  
  
I could see that I had caught her off-guard. She averted her eyes with yet another embarrassed smile, choosing not to comment.  
  
Dad, there have been very few moments in my life when I felt so much at ease as I did right then. Whatever I might have been afraid of just didn't seem important anymore. The warm breeze was caressing my face, my eyes beheld the beautiful sight of my very best friend beside me, the spicy tea had eased the fatigue away... before I even became aware of what I was doing, the first words were out.  
  
"Mac?"  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"I... guess I still owe you an explanation."  
  
She looked at me, just a little surprised, but I could tell it was positive surprise that she felt. "You do," she answered quietly, her tone encouraging, "But only if you really feel you want to talk about it, Harm."  
  
"I do."  
  
Her expression lit up in silent joy and she only reached out and, for a moment, squeezed my hand with hers, before she drew back again into the customary demeanor of a good Muslim woman.  
  
"I... uh..." I looked down on my hands that were toying with my teacup, chuckling a little, "I don't know where to start."  
  
"That bad, huh?" Her voice was pure sympathy.  
  
"I'm afraid so." I met her glance. "All this goes way back, Mac."  
  
"I know. I was at the pier in Norfolk, remember?"  
  
I nodded briefly, sighing. "But it isn't what you think."  
  
"What do I think?" She scrutinized my features challengingly.  
  
"I suppose you think I'm still seeing Diane in you," I answered.  
  
"Aren't you?"  
  
"No. I see you, Mac."  
  
Her brow furrowed slightly, yet her gaze remained compassionate and open. "Do you?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Then I don't really see the problem. If this isn't about Diane..."  
  
"I didn't say that it had nothing to do with Diane," I cut her off gently. Her furrow increased.  
  
"I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate, sailor."  
  
Heaving a deep sigh, I straightened a little and gazed into the big nothing. "I won't deny that I did see Diane in you for quite some time," I began, my voice distant as memories were surfacing. "Actually, that was what brought us this close in so little time. Like I told you in Red Rock Mesa: I tended to forget that I didn't know you. But eventually, that changed."  
  
I could see she was following me. "Norfolk..." she murmured.  
  
Nodding slowly, I went on. "That night was the turning point, Mac. When you showed up, I saw Diane but..." I swallowed, not sure how to go on.  
  
"I've always been wondering about something," Mac thoughtfully addressed me. "Harm... can I... can I ask you a personal question?"  
  
I let out a low chuckle. "What is this if not a personal conversation, Mac?"  
  
She, too, laughed silently. "True," she sheepishly acknowledged. Then her expression sobered and I think I even detected the slightest trace of dread in her eyes. "Whom did you really kiss that night, Harm?" Her voice was very low.  
  
"You, Mac," I whispered, unable to look at her. "Although I didn't know it until you made that remark about me kissing Diane. But it was you."  
  
She remained silent. I still didn't dare to face her but I went on. "And that's where the problems started."  
  
I heard her suck in her breath at my statement and I knew how it must have hurt her, but I could only hope that my further explanations would set the picture right. I went on. "Then we were growing closer all the time, especially after Russia, and I found that you were the one person that I loved spending my time with." I finally managed to meet her glance that was an unreadable mixture between wonder, hurt and fear. "You were about to become the center of my life, and what was scaring me most was that, most of the time, it didn't seem to scare me at all. After Diane there's never been a woman whom I'd really granted access to my heart. It would have been too much to take. And I was determined to maintain the same policy with you. But you somehow managed to sneak your way in and I was very much in danger of losing myself in you."  
  
Mac's huge eyes had turned incredibly sad. "Would that have been so terrible?" she whispered.  
  
I swallowed. "If we had gotten involved it wouldn't have been just a casual affair, Mac," I tried to explain, "At least not from my side. That's why I'm grateful that you're so similar to Diane. Although I didn't see her in you, your likeness always reminded me of what was at stake. Losing Diane all but killed me. I damn near lost you more than once, too. I felt I just couldn't live through it. If I'd opened up completely, if I'd let go and then lost you..." I couldn't complete the thought. Confused, I wiped my face with my hand, looking everywhere but at her.  
  
"So you saved yourself by drawing back whenever you felt we were about to leave the safety of our platonic friendship," Mac quietly concluded, carefully masking whatever emotion lay behind her words.  
  
I nodded.  
  
"And now? What's different?"  
  
"I don't know, Mac. Nothing, really. I... I just feel I can't go on like that anymore. I have to get past the fear. Or die trying."  
  
"What tells me that you won't draw back again?" She had asked neutrally but I knew her too well not to hear the dread behind her calm words.  
  
"All I can promise is to try and fight the demons of my past with all my might," I told her, locking my gaze with hers. "During the last few weeks I understood two things: if there's anyone who's worth the fight it's you, Mac, and if there's anything that'll get me through this, it's the strength that I find in your affection. And that's what has become the source of my growing faith that this time, I'll make it. We'll make it."  
  
"I'll take you up on that promise, squid," Mac replied softly, smiling ever so slightly.  
  
"Good," I stated, mirroring her smile and taking her hand.  
  
After once again losing ourselves in desert sunset cinema, we returned to bivouac and began to prepare for the night. Just as I had gotten out my diary, sitting cross-legged on my sleeping-bag, Mac settled down in front of me, gently touching my shoulder with her hand. I looked up.  
  
"What's up?" I asked.  
  
Wordlessly she held out her hand, a slightly self-conscious smile on her face. On her palm lay the two little bricks. I gaped at her. "Two?" My heart started beating wildly.  
  
"Yeah," she whispered.  
  
"But..."  
  
"You deserve them, Harm." With her free hand, she picked up one brick and put it in my hand. "This one is for opening up in the first place. I didn't even think about asking. You did it all by yourself. And this one," she placed the second one in my hand, "Is for going through with it and promising to try and put your fears behind you. That's just too much to equal only one stone."  
  
I had to swallow heavily as I was studying the two little pieces of wood on my palm. "Thank you." My voice caught slightly in my throat.  
  
"My pleasure," Mac replied, her smile audible. "Do I get my goodnight kiss?" she added shyly.  
  
I couldn't help grinning widely. "Sure," I whispered before I cupped her face with both my hands and kissed her just a little more intense than the other night. She didn't seem to mind. "Good night, Mac."  
  
"Good night." Giving me one last quick smile, she got into her sleeping-bag and turned away from me, clearly just as unsure as I am feeling right now but happy nevertheless.  
  
Five stones, Dad, I still can't believe I've made it this far! Right now I'm convinced I can do anything. Please, God, make it work! Dad, pray for me.  
  
I love you, Dad. I just wish you could have met her.  
  
Harm  
To be continued... 


	4. Conclusion

'Teamwork' - Conclusion Author: Daenar Disclaimer: See Part One  
[Excerpts from Harm's diary]  
  
Jan. 14th Bobo Dioulasso, Burkina Faso  
  
Dad,  
  
I think I've never done such a crazy mission. I mean, I've done very crazy missions, being in mortal danger all the time, doing illegal things, disobeying orders... don't tell the admiral - black on white like this, my confession doesn't look nice. Whatever. What I was trying to get at was that I've done all kinds of crazy stuff in the line of duty but this mission is unlike anything I've ever done.  
  
We're driving across Africa. We're tracking cars. And we're doing nothing at all.  
  
Believe me, Dad, during the last four days literally nothing has happened that would have been worth writing. Mac and I covered about 3000 km, are currently ranked 78th and are enjoying our vacation, sort of. Ever after leaving Agades, Mac and I have been happy to be together and we didn't need anything else. She drives, I navigate, we halfheartedly observe Dunfoss who even managed to win yesterday's stage, we talk a little, we tease each other...  
  
I can clearly tell that all this is driving Clay nuts. More than once I saw him with his sat phone, gesticulating agitatedly, apparently trying to make someone back in D.C. understand that our little joyride is a big screw-up.  
  
Okay, I wasn't quite sincere when I said that nothing worth relating happened since I last wrote to you. Today's stage was just plain crazy, but first I'll quickly tell you where we are and how we got here - besides driving in a Ford Focus.  
  
The day after our wonderful break at Agades, we went south to Zinder and crossed the invisible border into black Africa. Rudimentary English replaced rudimentary French as official language and we left the Sahara dunes behind us once and for all. We had reached the Sahel zone, rolling across wide plains of so-called camel grass and we got to see the first trees that aren't palms and don't need an oasis to grow. The soil is amazingly red around here. Bensen explained to us that this is due to iron compounds washed out and rusting along in the earth. These laterite routes are a little tricky to follow as the last rainy season, short as it was, damaged them quite a bit and no one here has the money for any basic repairs. But at least we won't have to dig anymore.  
  
The next day, proceeding from Zinder - Niger's ex-capital - to Niamey - Niger's actual capital - was the longest stage of all. We covered almost a thousand kilometers, mostly on rather soft ground with deep sandy ruts. It was a typical transition stage, only 252 km of special track. Having departed at 0450 in the morning, we were pretty much done for when, some time after 1900, we finally arrived. I think I never suffered as severe a case of highway hypnosis as I did that day.  
  
Yesterday we left Niger and entered Burkina Faso, former Upper Volta, and reached its capital Ouagadougou. The vegetation keeps getting thicker and greener. We're in the middle of the savannah regions now and we even got to see a few zebras and gnus. As I told you - we're on holiday here. Although we were bound to hurry as Dunfoss made another attempt at winning a stage and finally succeeded, at one point Mac and I were so merry that we actually stopped, got out and took a few safari photos with some nearby zebras. We were laughing to no end.  
  
And today, well... what can I say? I'm feeling like I could embrace the whole world. Yeah, I knew you'd have guessed it: Mac gave me the last brick stone but one. But you know why? This, you'll never guess. Dad, we WON THE STAGE. Yes, shut your mouth, we did. I still don't know how but here's the trophy, standing right beside my backpack. So I guess we really did win.  
  
The irony of it all is that I accidentally caused our victory. In other words, I made yet another navigation mistake. Today's stage from Ouagadougou to Bobo Dioulasso - a nice city, actually, with broad avenues, a moderate climate, an all-African flair and an "overpopulation" of bicycles - was quite easy compared with what we had to go through during the last two weeks. Or maybe it was just the routine that made our task seem easy but, be it as it may, to both of us, for the better part of the distance, today's stage seemed like a walk in the park. We went across rainforest-like savannahs with luxurious green vegetation and there was next to nothing left to do on the navigating part. Occasionally we had to avoid a few villages and we had to look out for road damage.  
  
What made today's race interesting was the weather. After about 500 km, we came to know a real tropical convection rainstorm and we were literally washed off the road and landed in the roadside ditch. When we'd finally freed ourselves with the help of our trusty winch (Dad, Mac looks dead hot when she's soaking wet!), I noticed that our GPS was malfunctioning. We still got fairly reasonable readouts about Dunfoss' position (not that anyone cared about him anyway), but our own position seemed to be lost to the sensors. Now try to navigate through the thickets of a rainforest without any hints which track goes in which direction whenever you reach a fork in the road. True, I still had the compass but before long we were lost. This was what saved us the bad luck that many teams were facing today.  
  
The course we were following led us in a wide curve all around a lower area. The main road should have gone right through it but as it appears, it was blocked by water that had left the nearby river-bed because of the heavy rain. None of the competing teams had passed that point by that time and once the first cars arrived, they were stuck because the water had by then made it impossible to re-ascend to the region where the road Mac and I were following had separated from the main track. Apparently we hadn't been the only ones to make use of the winch today so many teams were behind schedule. As it happened, Mac and I got to be the first ones to use the alternative route. Accidentally, yes, but still...  
  
Mac and I were completely oblivious to what was happening as we were only trying to get our car safely through the rainstorm. When the weather eventually cleared and we finally reached bivouac, the first thing that we became aware of was the herd of reporters who were closing in on us. I could see that Mac was just as startled as I was. Warily eyeing everything and everyone, we got out of the car.  
  
"What the..." Mac didn't get any further.  
  
The TV stickboy from the other day yanked his microphone between us. "Congratulations!" he shouted. "Deb, tell us: how are you feeling?"  
  
The glance that Mac cast me clearly included a plea for help. I stepped up to her as she answered: "Wet. Why?"  
  
"You just won today's stage!" the stickboy went on over-cheerily.  
  
Mac and I stared at each other, open-mouthed. Then I turned to the reporter. "Excuse me, we did... what?"  
  
The TV guy's eyes went wide and his grin exuberant. He turned back to the other journalists, shouting: "They don't even know!!" Turning back, he pounded me on the back, making me cough. "You're today's winners, guys! You beat them all!"  
  
"You've got to be kidding..." Aghast, I looked back at Mac, only to find her smirking.  
  
"Your honor..." she completed under her breath, reminding me of my not too professional first appearance in front of her bench. As I saw her rise her hand, I couldn't help ginning myself. I gave her five and embraced her.  
  
"Well done, your honor," I whispered as I squeezed her tightly to me.  
  
"Thanks, counselor," she replied just as low, returning my squeeze.  
  
What followed then, somehow happened in slow motion. Mac and I answered a few more questions which took up a considerable amount of time as each journalist or TV team wanted some exclusive direct quotes. Then Bensen joined us, all giddy, and dragged us over to some little podium while all the cameras and photographers filed up in front. An official-looking man in a gray suit, representing the rally organization, took a microphone. Meanwhile, quite a few fellow drivers had arrived and were cheering us. Amazingly fast, a remarkable crowd of spectators had assembled, too. The noise they made was incredible. I was like in a daze and I could tell that Mac must have felt very similar.  
  
"Winners of today's stage from Ouagadougou to Bobo Dioulasso: from the United States of America, representing Team Ford - Deborah Kellerman and her navigator, Douglas Vandenberg!"  
  
Someone pushed me in front and I dizzily followed Mac, climbing onto the little wooden square. The flashes illuminating the dusk were blinding me.  
  
We both received a little trophy and a hearty handshake. Switching on my grin, I put my arm around Mac's shoulders and we posed a little for the cameras. Dad, this was great! I mean, look at it this way: you save the Russian President's life and no one knows you had a hand in it. You drive a few hours on some deserted dirt road with the person you love best in this world - and everyone is cheering you like you just saved the Russian President's life!  
  
When I heard a loud 'plop' near my left ear I jumped and turned around, just in time to have a fountain of a sparkling, slightly sticky something splash in my face. For a split second I gasped, casting an anxious glance in Mac's direction, but a knowing wink from her immediately reassured me. I managed to take a quick look at the label on the oversized champagne bottle and relaxed: sparkling cider. Bensen, who was thoroughly showering us, whooping loudly, obviously knew about her alcoholism. It was then that I realized something else: he had apparently calculated the possibility of Mac winning a stage! Why else should he have brought such a special non- alcoholic champagne shower all the way? I don't think the organizers kept one just in case one of their winners were an alcoholic, do you, Dad?  
  
Somehow, this was the final push that I needed to give in to the general folly. Bensen had known all along that Mac would do fabulously. My Mac! She made it! The hottest gung-ho semper-fi jarhead-lawyer rally queen of all times! Laughing loudly, I grabbed the bottle myself and gave Mac a shower to remember. She squealed, laughing, tackled me from the side and managed to get rid of the corpus delicti, delightedly taking revenge. A moment later, Silvio Giannetti, an Italian driver who had surprisingly arrived second, grabbed the bottle from her and aimed again at both of us until the pressure in the bottle was too low to continue.  
  
A moment later, Mac turned to me with one of the most radiant smiles that I'd ever gotten from her, and I just lost it. Cameras or not, I swept her up in my arms and kissed her passionately, feeling her respond after a second of shock. The public cheered even louder and quite a few catcalls were heard. When we broke the contact, more than just a little self- conscious, we noticed the happy expressions on all the journalists' faces. Everyone's favorite heroes, the wild lawyers from D.C., surprise winners of the day and obviously in love - what a sensational, heart-warming story!  
  
Once we were released from public attention, Mac very quickly excused herself, granting me another quick kiss and claiming that she absolutely craved a shower. I guess she was more likely longing for a little space to digest her happiness, just as I was, but I didn't comment. When I got back to our tent after having finally showered myself, she was already sleeping peacefully and I didn't feel the necessity to wake her. When I settled down, though, I found yet another little pack on my sleeping bag. With an all-encompassing smile, I set the little brick stone aside and read her accompanying note:  
  
Harm,  
  
Thank you for four days of perfect vacation. I guess honeymooning with you should be fun.  
  
Today's victory is yet another teamwork hallmark moment. Who'd have guessed we'd get that good at it? Anyway, I'm glad we did.  
  
Love, Mac  
  
Imagine my actual state of mind, Dad. I'll say no more.  
  
Harm  
Jan. 15th UN peace forces camp Monrovia, Liberia  
  
Dad.  
  
You're familiar with Murphy's Law, aren't you? The worst that can happen will happen. Once again, Murphy was right.  
  
Today, I was granted the chance to experience what the worst-case scenario could be like. My greatest fears all but came true. For a few excruciating moments, I thought I'd lost everything good in my life. That was just what I had always, always dreaded most, remember? I'm still shutting all my emotions out because the numbness somehow makes it easier to endure. I'd go insane if I let it affect me in any way right now. I guess, I'll just tell you what happened and then you can judge for yourself if my behavior is acceptable or not.  
  
As you can deduce from the location I mentioned, our vacation is over. Mission completed. Successfully, I should add, but somehow I don't care about that at all. You just don't celebrate when your team partner nearly gets killed.  
  
Actually, the day started just like all other racing days before. We were to enter Mali and finish the stage at its capital, Bamako. Instead, Mac and I were stranded somewhere in Côte d'Ivoire and were eventually med-evac'ed to Liberia. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Back to the beginning: I should start by telling you about something that Mac and I noticed before the start, something that we didn't really take to be important.  
  
Walking over to our car, we passed the Turkish team that we'd met the other day at the Agades teahouse. Celebi and Kir greeted us just as good- naturedly as we'd known them. Kir was holding a white case with a red cross on top, apparently intending to put it into their car's trunk.  
  
"Hey, you okay?" I asked, just a little curious.  
  
Celebi acknowledged with a smiling nod.  
  
"What do you need such a big medical case for?" Mac asked, just to make a little conversation.  
  
"I'm a diabetic," Celebi answered calmly. "I have to take my syringes wid' me. And for 'dat I need a case as big as 'dis because 'dey need to be packed safely. I can't risk breaking them."  
  
"Oh, I see. We'll cross our fingers that all goes well." Mac and I weren't really paying attention as we were due to depart in less than ten minutes.  
  
"'Tanks," Celebi answered with one last friendly wave. "How about getting toge'der for a cup of coffee after 'de stage?" he added.  
  
I turned back. "That'd be nice. We'll see you there!"  
  
Ten minutes later, Mac and I were on the road again, rolling through the tropical forest like the day before, enjoying our mutual happiness without speaking.  
  
For about 400 km, nothing happened. Gunny and Clay were observing Dunfoss and Mac and I were just going on yet another safari, conversing easily.  
  
"... so you say having Jingo sniff at the oregano wasn't a good idea?" Mac asked me, laughing a little incredulously.  
  
"No, I didn't say that," I replied. "It worked and you proved that the man was telling the truth. But what if it hadn't worked, Mac? What if he'd indicated the real narcotics?"  
  
"But he didn't," she shot back with a gloat.  
  
"No, he didn't," I conceded, "But don't you think it's a bit of a risk, basing a defense on an experiment in which you rely on the nose of an old dog failing his job?"  
  
"Sure, it was risky but..."  
  
"Stop!!!" I suddenly shouted as we turned around a corner and nearly skidded into three cars that were caught in a heavy collision. I got out for a moment and asked if everyone was all right. Apparently, no one was seriously hurt.  
  
I saw Celebi applying a bandage to Kir's arm. "You sure you don't need help?" I offered.  
  
"No," Celebi's smile was as easy as ever, tinged with a slight note of compassion for his hurting friend. "'Dis is nasty, but we've seen worse, haven't we, Taifun?"  
  
Kir nodded a grinning consent. Wishing him a quick recovery, I climbed back into the car and we headed on, both of us thoughtful for some reason we couldn't quite identify.  
  
Suddenly Mac gasped and stepped on the brakes. I gave her a startled look.  
  
"The medical case!" she blurted out, eyes wide.  
  
Instantly, the scales fell from my eyes. "The one they used was small! That means the one in the trunk..."  
  
"...contains something else," she once again finished my sentence, frantic. "Something that mustn't break at any cost!" Fiercely yanking the wheel around, Mac made a u-turn and, with screeching tires, headed back.  
  
Swearing loudly, I reached for the secure comm-link. How could we have been so stupid not to get suspicious at all? We'd both been completely fooled by Celebi's open and easy friendliness. Great.  
  
"Carl, do you copy?" I yelled into the mike.  
  
A second later, static was heard and then Clay's voice made its way over the line. "I do, Doug. What's the matter? Over."  
  
"Change of target!" I panted. "It's Celebi. Deb and I are in his tracks. Over!"  
  
"Wait. You're telling me we were behind the wrong team? Look, that's impossible, they clearly told me..."  
  
Impatient, I interrupted him, not caring anymore if anyone could hear us or not. "Dammit, Clay, trust me with this! Mac and I are following him, get us reinforcements, ASAP! We have to rely on seeing him, we don't have his GPS readouts!"  
  
"Harm, be reasonable, we..."  
  
"Damn, Clay, JUST DO IT!!" I shut off the comm-link in exasperation.  
  
Meanwhile, Mac had spotted Celebi and Kir just as they were leaving the main road and turning into another, narrower one that led south. We immediately followed suit.  
  
It took the Turkish only about a minute to guess that they were being followed. Celebi stepped on the accelerator with all his might and initially managed to create a little additional space between his car and ours, but he had clearly underestimated Mac. Fuming, she took up the chase, reminding me of a predator that mercilessly went after its prey.  
  
We were following a road alongside the Bani river, trying our best not to slip off the wet track and end up in the ditch. We gained yard after yard, closing in on them. Eventually we passed a signpost that told us that we'd just entered the Republic of Côte d'Ivoire but the soldier at the customs post didn't even have the time to get up before we whooshed past him at full speed.  
  
Just before entering the town of Odienné, we had finally closed the distance. Starting to overtake them at their port side and then willfully slamming our car into theirs, Mac managed to push them into the ditch. We got out immediately, disposed of our helmets and occupied ourselves with the two men.  
  
I reached Kir as he tried to get hold of a gun that he'd apparently kept under his seat. Throwing myself at him, I smashed him against the open car door and, getting a heavy blow on my ribcage as he tried to defend himself, I managed to take him out with a precisely aimed right hook.  
  
When I looked around for Mac my heart stopped beating. I saw her toppling down the bank, hitting her head hard on a rock. Unconscious, she rolled on until I saw her motionless form fall into the river and start to slowly float away.  
  
Inside my soul, rage welled up, a rage so fierce and powerful and deadly as I didn't even know I was capable of feeling. With an earth-shattering "NO!!" I attacked Celebi from behind, beating him unconscious before he even had the time to react. Then I half ran, half rolled down the bank, flung myself into the startlingly cold water and swam on, driven by the force of sheer despair.  
  
When I had reached her limp body after what seemed to me an endless amount of time, I needed yet another three minutes to get her back to the shore and drag her onto firm ground. Mac was frighteningly pale. Blood was trickling from the gash on her head. She wasn't breathing and I felt no pulse at all.  
  
Dad, it was the scene from the Watertown all over again. She was dead in my arms. Like back then, the panic threatened to overwhelm me - only a hundred times worse. I had opened my heart to her. I had let her in, had allowed myself to love her. Now, as I was desperately resuscitating her, tears streaming down my face, I was hit full force by the consequences of that one mistake that I'd once sworn I'd never make. It was just as I'd foreseen: it was too much to take. Eventually, though, I managed to close my heart against the pain as I was frantically going on: one-two-three-four- five, breathe, wait, breathe, search for pressure point, one-two-three-four- five, breathe, wait, breathe, search for pressure point, one-two-three-four- five...  
  
What seemed like ages later, I heard a helicopter and saw that Clay had managed to contact the nearest UN peace forces in Liberia. On board the med- evac, they had a defibrillator and finally managed to bring Mac back to life while the troops on the ground took Celebi and Kir into custody and secured the cars.  
  
We went directly to the largest hospital in Monrovia where Mac was put under observation. Three hours later, Clay and Gunny joined me, worried to no end, but confirming that we'd been right.  
  
Celebi had had the grenades safely stored in his fake medical case that was secured in the trunk in a highly inventive way so as to dampen the blows. Being questioned, he turned out to be an Islamic extremist who was obsessed by the idea of establishing a permanent Al Qaeda cell at Erhac, right under the nose of the NATO forces, so to say. He had managed to get into contact with the terror network but apparently they had so far only shown interest in the weapons that he might be able to procure them from Erhac base.  
  
So, when he had learned of the existence of the Anthrax grenades, Celebi had offered Al Qaeda a deal: he would safely get them to an inconspicuous port like Monrovia, knowing that he would be doing the rally anyway, and in exchange, the organization would support him in erecting a terrorist training camp in Turkey. He hadn't had the slightest idea that we were looking for the grenades. When he understood who we really were, Clay told me that he could clearly see that Celebi was mentally beating himself up for telling us where he was from.  
  
When I asked how the Turkish team had managed to let their cargo go unnoticed for such a long time, Clay gave me a wry smile. "He didn't carry the grenades in the car before today. They were in his camper. He told me he slept on them every night."  
  
No wonder we hadn't seen a thing. And he'd come so close to getting away with them.  
  
I was sitting at Mac's bedside when she finally woke from the sleep she'd so much needed after today's ordeal. I looked up when I felt her hand move in mine.  
  
"Hey sailor," she said in a low voice, smiling.  
  
I forced myself to return the smile. "Hey..."  
  
"Where are we?"  
  
"Monrovia."  
  
"And the grenades?"  
  
"All taken care of," I reassured her. "They even managed to arrest the Al Qaeda contacts."  
  
She sobered a little. "I guess I owe you one, don't I?"  
  
"Yeah." I didn't trust my voice to any more words as I recalled today's events.  
  
I watched her gaze turn wary. "Harm, it's over. I'm alright."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The wariness turned to dread. Her voice started to quiver ever so slightly as she went on, trying to keep the tone light. "Why don't you come here and take me in your arms for a few moments, my hero?"  
  
I looked away, swallowing. Then I turned my head back and forced myself to make eye-contact. "You need some more sleep, Mac," I answered, trying to sound as gentle as possible, as I softly placed her hand on her stomach and let go of it.  
  
"Harm..." The word came out very low, together with a sob.  
  
I got up a little too quickly. "I'm sorry, Mac," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut against the burning tears, "I can't." Turning around, I headed for the door when her calm, incredibly sad voice made me stop.  
  
"I know." She took a deep, shaky breath. "You do care, just not enough," she added in a resigned whisper.  
  
My back still turned towards her, I gulped heavily. "That's not true." I had to press the words out one by one. "I can't be with you because I care too much."  
  
She didn't respond immediately but as I reached for the door handle, she spoke up once more. "Harm?"  
  
"Yeah?" I couldn't turn around.  
  
"Please, don't stay with me. Go back to D.C. with the others." There was no reproach in her voice.  
  
I tried to object. "But."  
  
"Please, Harm," she gently cut me off, "I'm gonna be alright."  
  
I finally managed to turn around and face her, only to encounter that strange expression in her eyes once again, full of bottomless sadness and deepest understanding at the same time.  
  
"Okay," I whispered, defeated. Then I grabbed for the door handle and fled.  
  
Some time later when I had reached my quarters at the UN camp, a knock at the door startled me out of my numbness. When I opened I found myself eye to eye with Andrew Bensen who was shaking with suppressed anger.  
  
"Bensen? What..."  
  
I didn't get any further. Without uttering a syllable, he hit me in the jaw with a right hook that made me see stars. Gasping, I tried to address him about his behavior, but he just wordlessly turned on his heel and left.  
  
While I was still leaning against the doorframe, trying to get my surroundings into focus again, Clay walked by, stopped and stepped up to me.  
  
"Bensen hit me," I explained, the pain evident in my voice.  
  
Clay just glanced at me, cold and hostile. "I know," he replied calmly, "He won the coin toss."  
  
With that, he left me alone.  
  
Dad, why don't they understand? Clay has been there already, he should know what this is about! Don't you think I have the right to protect myself just as much as everyone else? And I'll still always be there for Mac, she can't doubt that! She's got to know I'd never let her down! But I mustn't let my guard down, either. Never. I couldn't handle losing her. And today has once again shown me just how easily that could happen. Please, tell me I'm right, please, Dad! Tell me that there's one person out there who understands me!  
  
Harm  
Jan, 26th Washington, D.C.  
  
Dad,  
  
Things have gotten worse between Mac and me since we've returned from Africa. They kept Mac under observation at the hospital for another five days, just to make sure the lack of oxygen didn't cause any permanent damage. Then she flew back and was immediately cleared for duty as long as it didn't include physical strain. Three days ago, she returned to JAG.  
  
We hardly talk at all. If we do, it never goes beyond anything work- related. I haven't seen her smile once. She avoids me. I know I hurt her badly but why can't she see that we're all better off if we just keep going on as best friends?  
  
When I thought she had drowned in that river back in Côte d'Ivoire, I thought I'd explode from the pain I felt inside. I couldn't take it. It was Diane all over again, only a hundred times worse. That's why I drew back. Because I care too much, just as I told her. But I'm not sure she understands.  
  
How can I make her understand?  
  
Wish you were here, Dad. Harm  
Jan, 28th  
  
Dear Dad,  
  
Once again, it's 0200 and I'm sitting at my dining room table, writing to you. I must admit, these 'conversations' between you and me have become a habit, and I'm actually looking forward to them more and more each day, especially on a day like today.  
  
I had a roller-coaster ride of feelings today that was worse than anything that I've told you of during the last weeks. I know that sounds crazy, I'm laughing at myself incredulously saying it. All I need to do is turn back a few pages and read what I wrote to you - my confusion always sounded like it couldn't get worse, didn't it? Funny thing is: I was convinced of what I wrote.  
  
Right now, I don't know how this letter will end because all I feel inside is just one big hurricane. I'm utterly and completely unable to get the slightest order into my line of thinking. Too much happened today. I'm still processing all the emotions I went through and I sincerely hope writing to you will help - normally it does. Okay, I'll start at the beginning.  
  
Today was Friday, and to begin with, things weren't any better between Mac and myself this morning. We exchanged exactly four words at work today, adding up all that we both said. "Good morning, Colonel," I tried, and she just said "Commander..." without even looking up. Then she had a hearing and when she got back I had a difficult interview to conduct.  
  
I was done around 1700 and hoped to at least wish her a pleasant weekend. When I looked up, her office was already dark but the real trouble started when I walked over to Harriet to ask her at what time Mac had left for today.  
  
Harriet looked at me as if she'd seen a ghost. "Sir, you know that her flight leaves at 1805 from Dulles."  
  
Flight? What flight? Mac hadn't hinted with one single word that she had to go out of town. Completely clueless I asked Harriet where Mac was going and her eyes got even wider if that's possible.  
  
"Don't tell me you don't know..." she trailed off, aghast, horror showing in her eyes.  
  
Suddenly I felt my stomach going wild. Something was wrong, very wrong. I remember that my first attempt at speaking failed miserably. Clearing my throat, I tried again. "What is it that I should know, Harriet?"  
  
She blanched. Dad, I rarely saw Harriet that terrorized. Of course, my suspicions rose to no limits in no time. "What, Harriet?" I urged her to go on.  
  
"She's... she's transferring..." Harriet almost whispered. "She told me that you knew and approved of it and that it wasn't to be talked about by the admiral's order. We even had a little goodbye drink last night, all of us. We were astonished not to see you, sir, but the colonel said that you had an important appointment and lately, you were very busy catching up on your cases and the two of you were just so... after the rally... so I thought... we..."  
  
The world was beginning to spin in front of my eyes. I think I must have swayed on my feet for the next thing I remember is being sat down by Harriet on her own chair. "Where?" was the only thing I got out of my throat although I feared I already knew. The admiral had been especially cold to me of late.  
  
"Brussels, NATO headquarters," she confirmed the catastrophe.  
  
The whirlwind that was my mind rose to a full-blown gale. Dad, she transferred to Europe without even letting me know! Rage, despair and loss fought a battle inside my chest. I don't know what you felt when you realized you had lost us but I guess what I felt at that moment came close. I didn't know what to do with my hands, they wouldn't obey me anymore. I had a million questions on my mind but all were shaded by only one to which I feared I knew the answer. 'Why? For God's sake, why?' I was aware that whoever was still at the office had stopped working and was looking over but I didn't care. Funny how those details lose all of their importance in the blink of an eye, isn't it?  
  
"Why didn't anybody tell me?" I only croaked out, more to myself than to her. Just how much did I hurt her that my actions had the power to destroy everything that had ever been between us? Just how cruel must I have been to the one woman I ever truly loved in my life, Dad? Yes, I love her more than I ever loved Diane. I have known for a long time but at that moment the realization was once again crystal clear in my mind. How could I ever ignore my feelings? I'm completely at a loss.  
  
Harriet placed a shaking hand on my arm. "We thought you knew," she whispered, "And Admiral Chegwidden and the colonel herself were so serious about keeping it quiet."  
  
I looked up but didn't really see her. My vision was suddenly blurred. In afterthought I guess this was the first time Harriet Sims-Roberts ever saw me in tears. Only now do I remember how she sucked in her breath and stared at me. Back then, I could only think of one thing: Dulles. Without another word, I jumped to my feet, grabbed my coat and cover and literally ran out of the office.  
  
I have no idea how I survived D.C. rush hour traffic. Or how I even found the right road to Dulles, for that matter. The only thing I remember is constantly praying: 'God, don't let it be too late. Don't let it be too late!' Somehow I made it to the airport. When I parked my car my watch read 1753. I dashed through the swing doors, sped along the never-ending corridors, not taking care of who got in my way. There was only one flight leaving for Brussels at 1805.  
  
When I finally arrived at the gate I thought my chest would explode. I was panting and coughing but I didn't really pay attention to that, I think. Boarding had just begun and there she was, quietly standing in line, still in her uniform. Even though I could only see her back, her attitude told me exactly how she felt. She was a woman who naturally wore her pride, who didn't waver and went on with her life. And yet, an aura of sadness, defeat and resignation radiated from her. I think no one else but me was able to detect it but I damned sure did. Clearly. Because I had caused it.  
  
"Mac!" I yelled from the barrier, not caring about the many people that looked in astonishment at the naval commander in full uniform who didn't seem to care one bit about conduct unbecoming an officer. "Mac!"  
  
I saw her tense. She was just about to have her carryon checked. Slowly she turned and looked at me, her eyes mirroring her shock that I had found out and at the same time overflowing once again with that silent, bottomless sadness that was devoid of any reproach.  
  
"Mac, don't go, please!" I yelled, desperate. She only looked at me for two or three endless seconds. Then I saw her quietly mouth "Be safe, Harm." and she turned and walked away in the direction of the gangway, never looking back.  
  
Dad, I have no idea what happened in the following minutes. I stood like I was petrified. I didn't feel anything, didn't see anything, didn't hear anything. Everything just went numb. The noises fused into one monotonous humming. Mac, my Sarah, had decided against me. Eventually one thing made its way to my conscious, though. The loudspeaker cracked and announced: "Departure United 2938 to Brussels." That was when my world finally shattered.  
  
I have lived through many painful situations, Dad. Like when I found out how you died, for example. Or Diane's death, of course. Or when I thought I would die myself, out at sea, and never be able to see Mac again. But, I swear, nothing ever came close to what I went through just about eight hours ago. The pain choked me, drowned me, crushed me, everything at the same time. I had lost all that I had been living for, even though I hadn't realized it that clearly until right then. This time, her goodbyes were definite. I could read it in her eyes. I had depended on my credit once too often. There's only so much Sarah's heart can take.  
  
I somehow made my way to the nearest bistro area, got myself an alibi cup of tea and slumped down on a seat far at the back. Facing the wall, I rested my face in my hands and wept.  
  
I don't know how long I sat there, silently crying my eyes out. I think, for any bystanders who only saw me from behind it must have looked as if I were sleeping, just another exhausted traveler stealing a few minutes of rest before going after his business again. Anyway, people left me alone, and I was grateful for it.  
  
I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and thought I must be losing my senses. Mac was quietly standing at my side, looking at me with a neutral expression, silently offering me a handkerchief. I guess I stared as if she were an alien. Normally, a reaction as this would have caused her to smile, but she just kept looking at me with those huge dark eyes of hers, her expression carefully masking whatever she might be feeling at that moment.  
  
Understanding that I needed an explanation, she said. "Blizzard coming in. The flight was canceled when we were already taxiing to the runway. They're getting us hotel rooms until we can get out."  
  
"But your apartment..." I whispered, not really understanding.  
  
"Already let," she only said. "The guy wanted something furnished."  
  
"Why, Mac?" I wasn't even sure if my words had been audible at all.  
  
She placed the handkerchief in front of me on the table, never relieving me from that guarded, seemingly void look that hurt me to the bottom of my soul, more than any anger of hers ever could have.  
  
"You know the reason," she stated. Strangely, there was no bitterness in her words. "I thought it would be better to leave quietly to avoid any more discussions."  
  
I guess that was when it dawned on me that I had just been given one ultimate chance to speak. Dad, I don't think I was ever that scared and courageous in my life at the same time. I couldn't think of any other thing to do. I got up, quickly dried my eyes and took Mac's hands in mine. She didn't pull away, but still showed no sign of emotion, either. She just waited. Well, what could I have expected of her? To let her guard down in front of me? Dream on, Rabb. Nevertheless, I spoke. I had no chance but I vowed to myself I would die trying.  
  
"Mac, I... please, you know... the thing is..." Damn. Get a grip, Hammer! Mac only looked at me, unmoving, unperturbed. Unfeeling?  
  
I knew there was only one thing to say. I heard the words deep inside myself. I felt as if I had to push them up inch by inch to my tongue but I was determined not to back down. It had been too long since I'd ever said them to a woman. But I realized that they hadn't been buried along with her. I still had them in me and was suddenly all but dying to finally, finally get them out.  
  
"I love you, Sarah," I said very low, desperately searching her eyes for any reaction at all. Nothing. 'Say something, anything,' I silently implored her. Anything would be better than this neutral silence. "I love you," I repeated, whispering, "And I finally understood that there is no possible way of ever caring too much. Forget what I told you at the hospital. I alone allowed that feeling to grow inside me and I never want to live without it again. Please, don't go away. Tell me whatever I must do to make you stay."  
  
Still she didn't react. I felt fresh tears well up inside myself and willed them down, swallowing. I understood. I had to figure it out by myself. She was tired of having to take the lead.  
  
"I need you in my life, Mac, more than anything else," I went on, forcing myself to continue speaking. "I told you we were a team, didn't I? I didn't behave like we were, I know. But I can't imagine my life without you and me being together. You complete me, Sarah. Without you, I am incapable of living up to my standards. It's you who makes me reach them. And it's the two of us, it's our team that opens to me the one street I want my life to take. I know it took me far too long to figure it out. And it took me longer still to draw the right conclusions. But here I am, willing to let go completely and give up everything just to have you."  
  
When I still saw her standing motionless, denying me the slightest hint that what I'd said so far had even reached her ear, I felt the sudden urge to grab and shake her, just to force her to react. I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth, drawing a deep, shaky breath. But I wouldn't succumb. Once more, I lifted my eyes to hers.  
  
"I always thought that having you and losing you would be too much to take. But that's not true. I know now that nothing is as painful as closing my heart and not taking the chance of letting you be a part of me. Diane's ghost no longer has any hold on my fears, I swear. Please, tell me I'm not too late." My last words came out almost as a whisper as my emotions threatened to choke me. I was in complete agony, awaiting her sentence. I had let down my guard, utterly and completely. I felt her next words could easily kill me, but at the same time a strange kind of relief flowed through my veins. I had at least told her. Finally.  
  
The first sign of reaction that I could detect in her was a slight tightening of her hand. Her glance softened ever so slightly. "Why now, Harm? Why did I have to leave to make you dare act on your feelings?" she asked, her voice not entirely even. "And how do you intend to convince me that this time, you won't draw back? How am I ever going to believe you again?"  
  
"I can't offer any excuses, Mac," I answered, pained by her questions. "I can only offer you my heart and my word of honor that I will never again let you down. I learned my lesson, Mac. I learned it the painful way, believe me. And I know now that in my life, I want nothing more than to love you if I'm allowed to. I'm aware that asking you to trust me now must seem ridiculous but, please, Mac, just this once, give me one ultimate chance to prove that I'm worthy of it. Please," I pleaded with everything that was in me.  
  
"Even if I wanted to, I..." she swallowed. My heart sank. Too late. I had known it all along, but the reality still cut too deep. I let go of her fingers, looked down in confused pain and wiped my face, not knowing what to do with my hands.  
  
"I have always loved you, Harm," I then heard her go on in a low voice. "I couldn't un-love you now, even if I wanted to." Unconsciously holding my breath, I forced myself to face her - and to my utmost bewilderment, I felt hope, even before the meaning of what she had just said sank in. I gaped at her.  
  
"Kiss her, you fool!" someone shouted from the side. I looked around and became aware that the whole restaurant was silently staring in our direction. The spell was broken. Mac blushed deeply, a grin spreading over her face. I felt my mouth twitch as well, and finally we both burst out laughing.  
  
Dad, I'm utterly incapable of telling you in words what I felt. My world had turned from deepest night to complete bliss in an instant. I don't think I'll ever be able to describe what went on inside myself. I only remember that I first embraced Mac tightly, lifting her up and whirling her around several times, both of us laughing out loud although we were aware that we had tears in our eyes. Then I carefully set her down and kissed her, tenderly and passionately at the same time. I tried to put the whole of my heart and soul into that single kiss, to make her see what I had tried to tell her before. My knees threatened to buckle when I felt her respond in kind.  
  
Someone whooped very loud and the whole restaurant erupted into cheers, making us break up and hug tightly, embarrassedly hiding our faces, laughing. Eventually Mac pulled back and, sniffling, put her hand into the pocket of her coat. With a wonderful, radiant, teary smile that made my heart race she handed me the last missing stone of the arch.  
  
"Promise me you won't burn the bridge this time," she begged softly.  
  
"I swear I won't," I answered, taking it from her. "Will you help me build it? Teamwork?" I added.  
  
"With all my heart."  
  
Unable to wipe the goofy smile off my face, I offered her my hand. "How about going home, Marine?"  
  
"Home is where you are," she answered simply, placing her hand in mine. Together we left the restaurant, sheepishly smiling at the corridor of applauding people that formed before us. I guess none of them will ever forget the sight of two high-ranking officers in full uniform, giving them their share of Hollywood that day, now will they?  
  
We made it home to my place just before the blizzard got a firm hold of the capital. Once I got in, I turned up the heater and shut the windows tightly as the wind started to howl ever more. Only then did I dare to face Mac again. We had been very silent during the ride home. I didn't know what to say to her. Again, the intimate closeness of the car intimidated me, even more than it had down in Africa. So I limited myself to casting her a smile now and then to reassure her that I had meant what I'd told her.  
  
Now she was standing in the doorway, shy, not really knowing what to do next.  
  
"Can I take your coat?" I asked. I had to fight the urge to add '...and everything else you wear?'  
  
Smiling, she let me have it. I gently pulled her away from the door. Then we again just stood in front of each other, connected only through the intense contact of our glances. I tried to tell myself that I was shivering from the cold but whom did I want to fool, Dad? I was scared of this... "thing" - but at the same time overwhelmed to have her with me, for once in mutual awareness of how we were feeling about each other.  
  
Mac lifted her hand and gently caressed my cheek, sending more shivers down my spine. That woman can cause me goose bumps only by looking at me. I closed my eyes, lost in her touch.  
  
"I was hurting before," she whispered, "But seeing you cry made it so much worse."  
  
"How did you find me?" I asked just as low, keeping my eyes closed to savor her caresses.  
  
"I was planning on getting myself a cup of coffee to decide what to do, now that my flight had been canceled." Her voice was getting lower and lower. Eyes still shut, I stepped closer to understand what she was saying until I could feel her body against mine and her breath near my ear. Encircling her softly in my arms, I listened as she went on. "The moment I saw the figure at the back of the restaurant, I knew it was you. And I knew you were crying. You can't imagine how that sight shook me inside."  
  
"And you can't imagine how that guarded look of yours was torturing me," I whispered, burying my nose in her hair that faintly smelled like apples. "I could have taken your wrath, but not this... this... nothing."  
  
"I was too scared to take the mask off," she confessed, making me hurt once again at the thought that my Marine had been afraid of me.  
  
"I'm so sorry," I murmured, "So sorry."  
  
"Just don't draw back this time, okay? I'm defenseless."  
  
She had tried to say it lightly but I heard the slight shaking in her voice. "I won't. I swear, Mac, I won't. Please, believe me," I repeated, desperately trying to reassure her. Relief swept all over me when I felt her relax against me.  
  
"You know I still have to go to Europe, right?" Her voice was very low and full of regrets. "I received my orders yesterday."  
  
"I know. But you can come back in August and we'll see each other as much as we can, I promise."  
  
Her voice bore traces of her smile. "Yeah.... and we don't even have to keep it quiet. We're not fraternizing now and we'll work something out before I come back."  
  
My heart leapt at hearing her paint her picture. "I love you so much..." I only whispered, stroking her head and her back. Dad, I so badly want her to see that I'm sticking to my promise. Do you think she'll ever trust me again in full?  
  
Well, maybe I already got my answer to that one. At least I guess I did. Mac pulled back a little and shyly brought her lips to mine. Electricity flowed on contact. How does she do that? It's scary but I fear I'm already addicted to the thrill. As our kiss grew in intensity, I had to tell myself repeatedly to power down. I had no right to claim anything from her. I could only accept what she was willing to offer.  
  
I wouldn't have dreamed, though, just how much that was.  
  
I started when, with a swift brush of her hands, she shoved my uniform jacket off my shoulders, never breaking the kiss. Only when I felt her remove my tie and open my shirt, did I dare to busy myself with the buttons on her green uniform. I proceeded slowly and shyly although I was burning with desire but, as I said, it was for her to set the pace. I wanted her to know that sex was of minor importance to me right then.  
  
I don't know, though, if she had the time to realize that.  
  
Again I can't wipe that smile off my face. I had always imagined Sarah Mackenzie to be a passionate woman. But the way she seduced me nearly knocked me out of my shoes.  
  
I guess I see you smirk at me.  
  
But let's leave the jokes aside for a moment. Dad, I'm not sure if you understand what I mean, but making love to Sarah was like a spiritual journey to the very essence of love itself. When I held her in my arms, being as close to her as I could possibly get, the world around me just seemed to fade away. It was just her and me, our hearts beating in unison. It was unlike anything I ever experienced.  
  
Right now Sarah's peacefully asleep, cuddled tightly into the blanket. Before I left the bedroom to write to you, I stood in the doorway for several minutes and watched her sleeping. She looks like an angel. Dad, I know I don't deserve her but I promise that, in time, I'll make it up to her and prove myself worthy of her. You believe me, don't you?  
  
I just heard something and looked up to see light shine through the glass brick wall that separates my bedroom from the living room. I'll get back to you later. Bye!  
0627 local  
  
Dear Lt. Rabb,  
  
Okay: Dear Dad. Please, don't blame me, Harm told me to address you like that. He's looking over my shoulder as I write so I can't do anything but comply.  
  
From what Harm told me about his letters to you, I guess you already have an idea about who I am. Anyway, to keep up the customs of society, let me present myself: my name is Sarah Mackenzie. I'm a lieutenant colonel in the Marine Corps, Chief of Staff at JAG Headquarters and Harm's working partner of several years. And - I hope you won't mind, sir... sorry, I have to take back the 'sir' because your son won't allow that I use it with you, he's headstrong, you know - anyway, what I wanted to add was that I am the woman who right now has on her left hand the ring that you once gave to your wife. I do hope you consent to your son's choice.  
  
Are you curious to know how Harm managed to pop the question? Actually, he did it in a very sweet way. I'm sure he told you about the experiment with the arch and that I gave him the single brick stones to tell him whenever he was on the right way to rebuild the bridge that he had burnt? I didn't give him the final piece until last night at the airport. I had intended to take it with me to Europe, sad souvenir of what might have been, sort of, but heaven sent a blizzard and your son convinced me to stay.  
  
When I woke, a couple of hours ago, he interrupted his letter to you and came back to the bedroom with an atlas and the little brick stones, including the last one. As we didn't have a folding table, we laid out the arch on the right-hand page of the map in the middle of the book (Russia, actually). Then we slowly lifted the back of the atlas until the arch stood and then put the map down again. The arch held.  
  
This is about teamwork, you know: I steadied the ground while he balanced the stones. Alone, neither of us could have done it. This may seem a little sentimental but isn't this a beautiful sign of belonging together?  
  
All right, I'm starting to babble, but you must forgive me: I'm still kind of overwhelmed by what followed our construction work. With one of those dazzling smiles I'm sure he inherited from you, Harm put his hand in the pocket of his bathrobe. "I think I may have the right monument to place on top of our bridge to eternity," he said and I suddenly felt my breath catch in my throat.  
  
Harm carefully placed a little object on the topmost stone. When I saw the dusty little black velvet box I looked at him, unable to utter a syllable. I mean, you have to understand that, just about ten hours prior, I had been ready and willing to leave my shattered hopes behind for forever, to finally move on with my life. And now...  
  
Harm looked at me with that funny expression of his, you know, this look that is half the cocky pilot and half the frightened little boy that is begging his mother not to take his favorite toy away from him.  
  
You must excuse that nasty blotch of ink but your son just slapped me on the arm for what I said about his glance. Don't worry, he got an elbow to his chest in return for assaulting a woman. I'm a Marine, after all... Anyway, back to our bridge: here's what happened.  
  
"Take it, Sarah," Harm said simply, softly, "And with it my heart and my life."  
  
Careful not to destroy the arch, I removed the little box from the top. That wasn't too easy, by the way, because my hand was shaking madly. But I managed to retrieve it.  
  
The ring is stunning. You have an exquisite taste, Dad. (Still feels strange calling you that... I'll get accustomed to it, I promise.) And it fits perfectly. I can't take my eyes off it. It's so beautiful in its simplicity. White-gold band, single diamond. I wouldn't have wanted anything else.  
  
I feel immensely honored to be offered to wear it, knowing what it must mean to your wife. Harm told me that she gave it to him years ago, for Diane. Thinking that - from what he tells me - since that time he never took it out or even considered giving it to anyone, makes me prouder still. I promise to prove myself worthy of it.  
  
Thank you for your wonderful son. I give you my word of honor that I will always love him. And that I'll make him happy if I can.  
  
Love, Sarah  
THE END 


End file.
